Soul of Fire - Heart of Ice
by Djuva and Redone
Summary: On his search for an apprentice Darth Sidious comes across a young Zabrak by the name of Khameir Sarin. But when the Sith Lord arrives on Iridonia to claim the warrior he finds out that someone else is already ahead of him...
1. Prologue

****

  
Soul of Fire - Heart of Ice 

by 

**Djuva and Red**

Special thanks goes to our beta DarkLady

****

  


Prologue

A caravan made its way laboriously through the jagged terrain of Khi'liqua — the black Fang Mountains of Iridonia. The mountains certainly lived up to their name: here millennia of sun, rains and wind had not polished the rocks down, but gnawed them into sharp, jagged, sabre-like teeth rising towards the violet skies, intersected by deep ravines where wild mountain rivers roared, and only a narrow precarious road winding its way through this post-apocalyptic scenery. No land transport could cross that terrain, only the dainty-footed local equines were reliable enough — and, of course, the feet of the local inhabitants, the Zabraks. 

The sun beat down mercilessly, fiery air danced above the black rocks, and all living creatures who had no death wish had sought shelter a couple of hours ago. All except a score of fierce Zabrakian warriors, escorting a covered sedan hoisted on the back of an equine. Sharp stones crunched under their heavy boots, and the clinking of their weapons echoed from the rocks on the other side of the ravine. Suddenly the leader of the caravan stopped, with others nearly running into him before they saw the obstacle, a dark shadow against the painfully bright sky. A warrior, clad in tan and black, his crown of horns proudly bared to them in challenge. It was not easy to determine his age, due to the warrior tattoos covering his face, but his horns weren't yet darkened, suggesting a man not much beyond his twentieth season. No affiliation markings on his clothes — a Loner. 

"You are trapped," he announced in a smooth voice. "Hand Lady Faa over to me, and you may yet die honourably." 

A lone wayfarer stood perched on a cliff, high above and unseen by the caravan of fugitives and their enemy. He stood motionless, almost blending in with the rocks, black against black, and watched. Nothing escaped his notice from the bloody fight that went on below. Finally he lowered his electrobinoculars, nodded with satisfaction, muttering to himself: "Not bad. Not bad at all." 

***

Days later, the castle was aswarm with rumours of Lord Algin's young wife's shameless attempt to escape to her lover, her recent return and imminent execution. A solitary warrior with no allegiance was said to have trapped her entourage, and had come to gather the bounty. The gossip was that she had been caught in the Fangs, but older men shook their heads at that in disbelief. It was possible for a warrior to hold off any number of attackers there — if he managed to keep his eyes and feet from the sheer ravine — but it was survival that was the real challenge. The Lady must have been desperate to venture there at all. But nobody ever went there alone, let alone to fight with twenty seasoned warriors. And none of the Lady's bodyguards had made it back alive. "This Sarin man's crazy," the seasoned men stated with full conviction. "He's got no heart. A man who doesn't know fear has apparently nothing to live for." 

Some young men, driven by illusions of glory and fame, envied the lucky man. But they never let it show. This man was a Loner. Loners were poor, filthy, degraded and utterly amoral. Nobody in their senses would side with a Loner. So, to stay on the safe side, they were his fiercest criticisers. But their eyes turned to follow wistfully when the hero of the day calmly made his way through the courtyards, proud and dignified despite his somewhat drab appearance, walking with measured steps and guiding the equine by the reins. 

The subject of all this uproar was seemingly oblivious of the attention he was getting. He stopped at the stairs and reached up to help the lady down. But the dainty hand that appeared from between the curtains was promptly pulled back. "Don't touch me," the lady hissed. The young Zabrak shrugged. "As you wish." When she had jumped down, he grabbed her painfully by the forearm, leaving bruises. Lady Faa pressed her lips together, but didn't want to make a show, so she followed him. 

"Why did you do this?" she snarled when they were finally left alone in the anteroom. 

"Did it give you some sort of perverse pleasure?" The warrior raised his golden eyes for a moment, then lowered them again in silence. But the lady wasn't shrugged off so easily. "It did, did it? I know, I know what you were thinking, you filthy...." She broke down into hysterical sobs. "Why didn't you just kill me?" 

"If you truly wanted to die, you needn't have gone that far." 

"Oh, shut up! I love him! You know nothing about love!" 

The man shrugged coldly. "You've made yourself into a whore. Whores don't know love.

" 

She screamed, pressing her nails into him, so that his tattoos took on an even angrier red hue. "Your struggle is pointless, lady," the man said, forcing her hands away from his face, so that piercing wails of frustration remained her only weapons. 

Still on the verge of a hysterical outbreak, the lady pulled away from him as if he were impure. "And you – Loner! How cheap do you sell your services?" she hissed through clenched teeth. 

The Zabrak warrior preferred not to reply.   
  
  


Meanwhile Lord Algin was sitting at a dinner table with his guest, a man with long hair as white as the snow-caps of Bar-Bahadur mountains, and deep-sunken icy green eyes, ringed in shadows. The subject of their conversation was the same young warrior. "Khameir Sarin, the nephew of General Sarin Machta Khamri," the Lord gesticulated with his golden fork. "Yes, he is talented. He's done a couple of services for me. An unfortunate affair that the General died so early, the boy could have gone far under him! I was planning to offer him a lieutenantship." 

"That is unusual." The guest had a cultured voice that rolled smoothly over the guttural sounds of the Zabrakian language. "He has no allegiance. Nobody would vouch for him." 

"His deeds speak for themselves. He is young, true, but I must say, I find his record quite impressive." 

"If all that is true—" the guest made a meaningful pause, and suddenly doubts began to creep into Lord Algin's mind, "If all that is true, why do you think no other warlord has offered him allegiance?" 

"Blind prejudice?" 

"Ah, but my Lord, don't we often find that prejudices are well founded? Think about it: how would a man without allegiance find livelihood?" 

"But he is paid for his services." 

"Is that enough? What if he's a robber, a thief?" 

Lord Algin laid his fork on the table. "What is your suggestion then, my friend?" 

"Wait. Watch him for a while. Collect information. How he lives, what he does. What are his manners. Would he be loyal." He smiled, raising his glass. "If what you say is true, and it is only blind prejudice that stands in his way, he will still be there for you then." And, when the lord of the house had turned his attention elsewhere, the white-haired man muttered: "Yes, Lord Algin; wait, to be safe. Meanwhile, we shall make a closer acquaintance with this Khameir Sarin."   


So Khameir Sarin was handed a pouch of gold for restoring His Lordship his property — his wife. He bowed and waited hopefully for a moment for an offer he knew he had long since earned. But that did not come. Khameir bowed again, turned, and left. 

***

The house was huge, as befitted the residence of one of the most influential families on Iridonia. And yet it seemed awfully quiet, bereft of all life. The hallways were deserted, there were no servants bustling about, no merry banter filling the kitchens. There were people, yes, and they might even have been called servants, but they seemed always to be watching the shadowy corners of the palatial dwelling, as if a ghost were haunting it. In fact, as he neared the iron-wrought gate that would permit him entrance, he remembered the discussions and the gossip quite vividly. But what was more, he remembered the truth. 

Old Patch Undan and his wife had died in short succession, a matter of twenty seconds, as he recalled, leaving their not so small business to their only daughter. Undan had had a hand in every part of the small planet's economy, but his major source of wealth had been slaves. Solay had served for a time as Patch's second, before the madness had taken her, and now the servants tiptoed around the house daintily, trying to avoid their unpredictably moody mistress and especially her lover. 

He liked it that way, especially since it kept them from asking inconvenient questions. Rounding the corner and stepping into the beautiful courtyard he looked up to see her stand on the balcony, smiling down at him, that certain smile he knew oh so well. She had looked at him in the same manner when she had straightened from her father's corpse, the man's blood still hot on her hands. That questioning look seeking his approval. At that time he had given it with some satisfaction. Her madness was a mask he had looked through straight from the beginning, and he knew that his knowing made her feel attracted to him. Here was someone she could almost trust, someone like herself. Someone to teach her. And he had worked hard on letting her believe that this was actually true. 

He had moved in shortly after her parents' death and gossip had it that he had had something to do with their untimely demise. How right they had were. Yet no one dared to express this opinion aloud, and especially not in Solay's presence. Without his appearance the government would undoubtedly have assigned her a legal guardian. But now they looked benignly upon his endeavours in Solay's name. Ever since the tall stranger kept Solay Undan company, the trade was running smoothly. There was even talk of expansion and very slowly Undan built up her influence, her lover's deft manipulations keeping her ahead of any competitors. And his skilful negotiations had attracted even off-world investors, a chance for the government to help the economy along and to give Iridonia a new image, that of a trade world instead of a backwater planet. 

Presently that mysterious benefactor had just come back from a visit to Lord Algin and a faint smile lay across his features. The trip had been quite successful, in a great many ways. Lord Algin was head of the most powerful family on Iridonia, and he had been frowning at Solay Undan's steady progress with some concern. Calming him down had been first priority on this visit, but there had been another reason too. That young warrior, whom Algin was so quick to praise and even quicker to dismiss as unworthy, had intrigued him. Sarin was an adept fighter, but that was not all. He was fairly glowing in the eyes of those who could see such things. In short, he would keep a tight watch over him. 

But in the meantime he had other things to attend to, important too, and much more imminent than Khameir Sarin. He had invited his new-found investors to Iridonia for negotiations, and there was a lot to prepare before their emissary arrived. First of all he had to prepare Solay for the stress ahead. She was so unstable at times that he had to spend more energy on controlling her than he liked. After all, trade negotiations were never easy. And if she distracted him, he might be forced to use less pleasant methods than he had planned. Unfortunately she owned the business, and he had no intention to take it from her just now, which meant that she had to attend the meetings too, if only for show. He would be leading the deal, on any account. 

Smiling to himself he opened the door to his study. Who could have known that Iridonia would prove to be so interesting?   



	2. Soul of Fire

  
  


**Soul of Fire**  
  
  
  


He stood at the edge of the cliff, perfectly still. In the distance the horizon was blazing in the orange light of the fiery sun of Iridonia. Night was falling and already the shadows were chasing each other over the craggy rocks, racing ever closer towards the solitary figure looking out over the plains. The warrior's golden eyes were gleaming in the light of the setting sun, watching everything unblinking. Such peace as he felt right now was to be found only when for a moment there was nothing between fire and darkness except for the eerie silence of the evening. That quiet, serene moment eased the tensions of the day only to refresh his senses for the night. There was no rest for him. Ever. Only the fire burning in his eyes, in his mind, in his heart and soul. For years he had tried to find the source of his restless being, for the emptiness that drove him onward, always wanting to be filled. So far he had not succeeded. But there was a feeling, a scent in the air that told him that he had finally found the right place. If an answer could be found anywhere it was here. 

*** 

Darth Sidious had never been to Iridonia before and, seeing the planet now, he decided that he would never return here either. The planet was dull, to say the least, and the only reason he had come here at all had been a vision. That he would find here what he was looking for: an apprentice. Decades had passed since he had accomplished his own apprenticeship and he had savoured the sweet feeling of being the master instead of being a student for a long time. Which was why he only now had begun to think of taking an apprentice himself. Still, his plans dictated his actions and he was well aware that the Sith could not rise to power if everything depended on him alone. Apart from that, having an apprentice would satisfy his need for dominance more than ruling the weak-minded, breaking them to his desires. No, this would be a challenge, one he meant to enjoy to the fullest. 

Walking the streets of the city he made sure that no one saw his face. He was a known man, famous even, after a fashion, and he intended to become far more than that, oh yes. He had drawn the hood of his black cloak deep over his face, and the dry summer heat did not affect him at all. The man he was looking for would be easy to find, he knew. One only had to know where to look. The one he had chosen to be his apprentice would seek the solitude, not the steady hubbub of the city. But there was no need for haste either. He had time, for now. Had to have it. Taking an apprentice was not the same as advertising for any common job, after all. He chuckled softly at the thought of that. Indeed, not at all. Well. First he would have to find accommodation, preferably in one of the calmer quarters. For when he brought his new apprentice here he wanted to make him feel comfortable and at ease for as long as it would take to make him his own. 

As he passed along the streets he let his mind drift, brushing past the awareness of passers-by gently, always keeping an eye on possible threats. But when his stray thoughts picked up a familiar presence he stopped short and turned around to face the beautifully wrought iron gate of a majestic town-house. It could not be. Not here. Darth Sidious did not believe in chance encounters and with what was at stake he would not take any risks. The presence had become aware of him too now and he could feel its curious interest leaning toward him, searching for any clue as to why he was here at all. No doubt it already was assessing the possible reasons for his stay and when he could feel it tense suddenly, Sidious knew that they had come to the same conclusion. _Meet me tonight_, the presence told him and withdrew again. Sidious suppressed an angry growl. To have _him_ here of all places could only mean trouble for his own schemes. Well, better to solve this problem as quickly as possible. 

*** 

Gently wiping a stray strand of hair from her face he quickly snatched his hand away when Solay turned toward him with an angry growl. She was beautiful, with her long, black hair shining in the sunlight like polished obsidian. Dressed in a floor-length robe of a creamy colour that accentuated her pale complexion exquisitely, she stood against the balcony railing looking out over the house's inner courtyard. It was so peaceful here, the noises of the city far away, dimmed to nothing but a whisper. In a way he relished the silence, the same way he delighted in her fiery presence. Grabbing his wrist in a quick move Solay twisted his arm around, forcing him to turn his back on her. He could feel her breath against his neck as she spoke: 

"You know I hate it when you touch me like that. I am no child." 

"Perfection, Solay, requires order and discipline," he answered calmly. 

She huffed in indignation, but walked around to stand in front of him. Wrapping her arms around his waist she drew him close. He bent down to kiss her forehead, using both his hands to keep her hair from falling in her face. Then, very slowly, he began to trace the lines of her skull, feeling the shape of her delicate bones underneath her soft skin. She was perfect. Almost. And it was exactly that slight imperfection that made her so attractive to him. 

"Roj?" 

"Hmm?" 

"You are so distant today. What is it?" 

"Nothing." 

The punishment for that lie came immediately. Solay drew her head back abruptly, her grey eyes flashing with anger. Suddenly though they glazed over as if a very flimsy white curtain had been drawn across their depth. Tensing immediately he frowned at her. She giggled foolishly, then her hand came around to slap his face. He intercepted her easily, catching her arm in mid-swing. 

"Solay. No games today. I have some business to attend to." 

"Business?" she smiled at him dreamily. "Can I come along?" 

"Not this time, my dear. Another kind of business." 

"Who is it?" 

"A friend." 

Pursing her lips thoughtfully she crossed her arms in front of her chest and turned away. She walked away to leave the room without another word and he watched her go, unmoved. She had those fits, sometimes, where her mind was as unstable as a leaf dancing in the wind of a storm. Making her unpredictable. Sitting down at the finely carved table he lay his right hand on the top, resting his left on his knee. It was an easy posture, but he was in no way relaxed. He had managed to postpone this meeting long enough. Now it was time to bring this to an end. 

*** 

They met in a small public park, away from prying eyes on a small stone-tiled plaza, in the cool light of the moon that shone over Iridonia. Sidious stood facing the other proudly, but almost immediately an old envy took hold of him. 

"We meet again," his opponent said at last, his soft voice touching his heart and soul with its beautiful, otherworldly harmonics. 

"So we do," he answered, setting his mouth in a grim line. "I had hoped that you had died by now." 

A small laugh rang into the night air: "And here I am, disappointing you yet again." 

"You never disappoint me—" 

There. He had just barely been able to prevent himself from calling the other master. His eyes flashing furiously he took a step closer to the older man, refusing to let his presence intimidate him. But there was no way to fool that one. 

"I know why you are here, Sidious," the man said calmly, and this time there was a cool edge to his tone, as breathtaking as the chill of a winter morning in the mountains of Coruscant. 

"And you? Why are you here?" 

"Business and Khameir Sarin. Quite a promising young man, that one. You have seen it too, haven't you?" 

Taking a deep breath Darth Sidious gathered the Force around him, its angry black swirls cloaking him far better than even the night of Iridonia could. 

"You know the rules as well as I do, Lord Kell," he hissed at his former mentor. "There can be only two: a master and an apprentice. And I plan on being the master this time." 

Roj Kell gave him a long, hard look: "We shall see." 

"I have chosen him for myself!" Sidious hissed, lashing out at the older Sith in absolute fury. 

Roj Kell did not seem to be fazed by his attack at all. Staggering back at the force of his assault the Sith Lord kept his calm composure gracefully. 

"You do not want to fight me, Sidious. You would always lose." 

"Really. I don't think so, old man." 

The ease with which the other broke through his defences was more infuriating even than his benevolent smile: 

"Think again, Sidious," Kell whispered in amusement. "There is no way you can beat me. Ever." 

"Then why don't you end it just now?" 

"Ah, no. That would be too easy. You know me. I like to play." Releasing Sidious he folded his arms in front of his chest, waiting. 

"Only to break the rules. You know very well that only one of us can win this. But if you want to play we will play. The one who gets to him first keeps him. Direct interference is not allowed. Agreed?" 

The older Sith nodded slowly: "Agreed. A week from now Khameir Sarin will have a master." 

"And it won't be you." 

Turning around Darth Sidious stalked from their battle-field, fuming. He had had to admit defeat, true, but he knew his mentor well. Roj Kell liked his little games more than anything else. And no one played them better than he did. Still, Sidious had learned a lot over the past decades and he meant to show his old master just how much. He smiled a bit. It was not as if one of them would stick to the rules. That wouldn't be any fun, after all. And one week from now Roj Kell would be dead. 

'Borrowing' a speeder, he drove a bit further out of the city, into the suburbs and finally found what he needed. The house was an old farm, worked by an elderly couple. Disposing of them was the easiest task and from their belongings he could deduce that no one would come looking for them. Their two sons had apparently died early in a fatal accident and bank accounts told him that there would be no workers to worry about either. It was just perfect for his purposes. He chose a room on the uppermost floor for himself, savouring the silence for a while. Only then did he decide to find his quarry. 

*** 

Walking the quiet streets of the city Roj Kell did not even look up at the sky. His thoughts were entirely on his earlier encounter. There was a slight problem to overcome here, and that problem was Darth Sidious. Even though Khameir Sarin was a most promising target, it was the student who had captured his former master's attention. Sidious had been his most capable student, a natural at the game he himself enjoyed so much. When he had first met him all those years ago Kell had known instinctively that this boy was the key to the future. And now he was going to make the same mistakes that had cost his predecessors their lives. Roj Kell would not have it. He had to get Sidious back on track, and his taking an apprentice would help there nicely. But it had to be the right one. With Sarin he was almost sure that there could be no better choice. 

Roj Kell had first heard of the young Zabrak a few months back and he had been fascinated by the warrior's efficiency as an assassin. And yet, the boy's status as a Loner put severe restrictions on him, restrictions he would want to break sooner or later. Sarin must be aware of his abilities, the cocky pride he had displayed in the Fangs spoke of that easily, and the rejection he had experienced at Algin's court had to rankle. Roj Kell found that he did have an advantage here over Sidious. All of these facts were unknown to the younger Sith, or as good as, and he needed to use them carefully. Since Algin would be an object of resentment on Sarin's part it made sense to ensnare him that way. The key was Solay. If she was willing to play along, she would enlist Sarin's help in a 'delicate' political matter. 

Killing Algin would have two consequences: the first would be that Sarin would be declared a criminal and hunted down, if everything went the usual way, since he was a Loner and under the strict clan law of the Zabraks of Iridonia it was not his right and especially not his creed as a warrior, to assassinate someone socially so much higher than himself. Only a nobleman of Algin's equal rank could have done that — using a warrior as a tool, perhaps, and taking the responsibility for the act. Then it would have been dismissed as a settlement of disputes, a private matter. But not a loner, not Sarin. Any Zabrak not belonging to a clan had to tread very carefully on Iridonia, if he did not want to become a hunted outlaw. 

On the other hand Algin's death would serve as warning for the other contenders in this race for dominance. Solay Undan was not to be trifled with. She would call a private meeting afterwards and Kell would talk to them quite reasonably, and convince them to surrender and join their power and wealth with his. The government would smile on this endeavour, hoping to benefit from his new status too, maybe transfer responsibility over Undan's business to him officially. And he would see to it that Iridonia prospered. Definitely. That was, of course, wholly dependent on the outcome of this game. Secretly Roj Kell knew very well who would win, and as he walked up to the house he smiled fondly with the memory of his first encounter with Sidious.   
  


It had been on Duro, right under the watchful eyes of the Jedi, eyes that had never found him over the past centuries. Or found Sidious, for that matter. 

The dark night had already swallowed the small house he had called home those days, but Roj Kell had not been inclined to rest just now. He had found that the older he got the less sleep he seemed to need. So he had just been sitting in the dark, reading. The only illumination had been provided by a candle that was very close to burning out, but he was a bit old-fashioned in some ways. Still, reading was comparable to a ritual that would require this kind of light and so it was acceptable even to himself and progress be damned. A sudden change in the air had brought his attention from the book he had been studying to the dark shadow lurking in the hallway. He had laid the book aside confidently, the only sign for his surprise the slight narrowing of his eyes. The shadow had stepped closer to turn into a young human, blonde, with brilliant blue eyes and a bold nose. 

"Who are you?" 

"I am Darth Sidious." 

"Darth Sidious? Well," Kell remembered smiling wryly. "I suppose you did not come here in search for an apprentice." 

The other's features never had changed. "No. I want to learn. I want you to teach me." 

"Well, Sidious, your title implies that you have a teacher already, or else that you have finished your apprenticeship." 

The younger Sith's lips had twitched as he had realised that Kell had denied him that title deliberately, but he had kept silent. Roj Kell had found it very impressive that the man had found him at all. And apparently he knew more about the ancient one than he cared for. 

"My master died quite—accidentally." 

"You mean you did not kill him yourself?" 

"No." 

"The Jedi did?" 

"No. As I said, it was an accident." 

Kell had frowned at that. What incompetent idiot of a Sith Master allowed himself to become victim to an accident? So, Sidious' training was not completed. Unfortunate, that. He would be tainted already with his master's views and teachings, his own prejudices and preferences. A pity. 

"I cannot teach you," the old Sith had tried. 

"Yes, you can." 

"What makes you think so?" 

"You trained Darth Bane, did you not? He was quite fond of you, I believe. And you were famous at your time too. A battle-leader, the sole survivor of the Sith Wars." 

"You know a lot about me. More than anyone alive save myself." 

"I am curious." 

"And resourceful." Rising from his seat Kell had walked over to study Sidious more closely. "That you could track me down at all is impressive." He had felt the pride in the younger man plainly. A weakness to exploit, if need be. "I admit that I am intrigued. Tell me, Sidious, what do you hope to learn from me?" 

"Everything." 

Roj Kell had laughed: "Good. Very good. And learn you will." 

He had learned. And Iridonia would be the site of his final victory. In a way Roj Kell felt very proud of his former apprentice, who embodied everything a Sith should be, except for his wayward views concerning leadership. But he would make him see the futility of that point soon enough. 

*** 

Khameir Sarin, completely unaware of the dispute he had caused, was sitting on top of the cliffs, letting the cold night-air cool him after an hour-long session of harsh exercise. Keeping his fighting skills honed was essential to a warrior like himself and additionally it eased his tension. Strangely enough he felt different, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Something had changed. He was not sure what it was, but he knew that it was important. Suddenly agitated he decided to postpone his meditation. Bowing towards the horizon he smiled a little. 

He sniffed the wind, the chilly dew, slightly mouldy scent of the earth, and the salt of the sea that was just behind the line of forested, rock-strewn hills; he listened to the sounds around him, but was unable to discern the cause of his agitation. All the more reason to be alert. He adjusted the long-range rifle on his back and stretched his hand towards the short-sword he had laid on the rock beside him — that he had laid it down at all was a rare concession, which he allowed himself only at the moments when he wanted to escape, and forget. 

He pressed his hot forehead against the cool rock and sighed, then smiled again, a small mirthless smile, too old on his young features. He knew, at least partly, why he was so uneasy. Someone had been pursuing him for the past few days. He didn't know who it was, or why, but he trusted his warrior's instincts. It was subtle, in fact sometimes so subtle that he could have sworn it was his imagination, but the 'someone' was always there, tickling at the back of his mind. Wherever he went, he was always half aware of 'someone' following, keeping a constant eye on him. But when he looked over his shoulder, there was nobody. Oftentimes he slipped into dark corners and side-streets, elbowed his way through crowded markets or used many other tricks to evade the stalker, but never quite successfully. There were moments, like now, when he knew this mysterious hunter wasn't near, but the knowledge of him always hovered at the back of his mind. 

The one who hunted him had to be good, really good. At least as good as he was — and he was among the very best of the children of Iridonia, he knew. His skills were superior to most others, and he seemed to have a keen sixth sense that often warned him of an enemy's strike. 

It hadn't won him any real power though, he reflected cynically. Power lay elsewhere, with silks, velvets, gold and jewels. What was there for a lone warrior? To live — to fight the battles of others — to die, as nameless as when you were born. 

His natural active nature won over. Unable to be idle, he sprang up, skidded down the rocks and jogged back towards where he had rented a small room above a store. 

Darma was just closing down the store when he arrived. 

"Been out again," the older man commented. "Restless?" 

He shrugged. 

"Ya, young hearts, full of fire." He finished cleaning the counter and wiped his hands in his robe. "Someone came asking for ya today." 

"Who?" 

"Didn't give a name. Ol' man, finely dressed but frail, not one of the local warriors, mus' be one of these coreworld nobles." 

"What did he want?" 

The old man shrugged. "We didn't come to talk 'bout it. Tight-lipped, kinda, like you. Now that I think of it, he didn't show his face either. Mus' be someone lookin' to get a job done." 

Khameir ignored the implicit hint of disapproval and didn't bother to correct old Darma about his livelihood. He nodded old Darma a good night and went upstairs. 

So, his hunter had a human body, and a face to disguise. That meant he was a man, and not a ghost. 

Khameir resolved to wait. 

*** 

Sidious was anxious to make his move, but he was reluctant to act without knowing what Kell was planning. Yet, he had made first contact by talking to the boy's landlord, a conversation that would undoubtedly reach the Zabrak's ears. What would he make of it? A thin smile appeared on his lips. He had been watching Sarin closely, and somehow the young man had become aware of his presence, testimony to a great potential as a Force-user. But he was still a virgin in the conscious use of his power. Which was actually pretty good. The Sith Lord remembered how Kell had made him relearn a whole lot of things, had twisted his views around with brute force sometimes, or just with a well-placed word of reason. 

It had been humiliating and difficult to start from scratch again, and yet he had endured the trial because he had felt that the outcome would be worth it. Now though, Sidious was not so sure anymore. Contrary to Kell and himself Khameir Sarin was a hunter, an outright warrior and in that his raw prowess and fighting skills had served him well so far. How would he deal with the subtleties of the Force? They had a long way ahead of them, that was for certain. And aside from coming up with a suitable approach to the warrior Sidious also had to think of an efficient method to get rid of Roj Kell. Maybe he could turn his former master into a lesson for his new apprentice. His smile widened at the very thought of that. But first things first. Tomorrow he would pay a visit to young Sarin and they would talk. Just that. 

He was currently walking the plaza toward the spaceport when one of the other passers-by stopped short and stared at him. Sidious stared back. The Neimoidian swallowed hard, and before he could open his mouth the Sith Lord had already taken hold of him and was guiding him gently yet firm toward a quieter side-street. 

"My lord!" the alien hissed. "I would not have expected to meet you here." 

"No?" 

"Well, yes. There have been negotiations with Iridonia, my lord, but I was not aware that you would be conducting them." 

Sidious kept his features in check calmly. What the hell was the man talking about? There had been no talk about Iridonia in presence of the Trade Federation's representative at all. Careful to keep his face hidden he stared at the ground a bit to the Neimoidians left, a gesture that was just arrogant enough to suit his purposes without revealing his true intent. 

"Really, Hath Monchar, who else would you have expected?" 

"I was to meet with Solay Undan. She runs—" 

"I have heard about her." 

"Of course, Lord Sidious." 

"And that woman is so poor that she could not send an entourage to welcome you at the port?" 

"I came early." 

"My friend. In that case I would have you join me for a little talk." 

Dragging Hath Monchar after him Sidious was fuming. This whole affair reeked of Roj Kell. How had the old man found out about his allies so fast? And now he was trying to get them on his side too! The gall of the man! But he would not have it. No way. He would have a look at this Undan, whoever she was. Wait. 

"Why did you come in earlier?" Sidious inquired sharply. 

"I was asked to meet her representative. It seems that there are some different views on how the negotiations should be conducted." 

"And where are you supposed to meet him?" 

"There is a tea-house not far from the port, I was told." 

"You will go there in precisely one hour from now. And don't you dare defy me." 

"Of course, not, my lord. I would not even think such a thing." 

"Good," Sidious purred and turned around. 

He thought he knew what establishment the Neimoidian was talking about. It had struck him as one of the places where the rich merchants met for trade talks when he had been scouting the city in search for Khameir Sarin. And he knew someone who would be unpleasantly surprised to see him there. 

*** 

The tea-house was a two-storey affair, the facade painted in a sweet apricot with white ornate patterns running the length of the house. Orange curtains kept the summer heat out and allowed the sunlight to filter through to fill the inside with a golden sheen. Sidious walked in purposefully and ignored the delicious smell of tea and special foods along with the steady hum of voices. Stalking up the stairway he found himself in a completely different section. Where the ground floor had been full of life and colours and sounds, this floor had a cold sheen to it. The walls were painted white and blue and there were only few tables scattered along the windows, with wide spaces inbetween. People were talking quietly and there was one table that had only one single occupant. Roj Kell smiled in his direction and lifted a finely crafted cup of china to throw him a mocking salute. For a moment Sidious could not move. But then he joined the older man briskly and sat down opposite from him. Kell did not even bother with small talk. As always, straight to the point. 

"You have accomplished much in the past, Sidious. But you are coming up against your limits." The voice was smooth and silken, perfectly fitting for the ambience. 

"What makes you think so?" Sidious hissed, deciding to play this at once. "I have already secured the support of powerful allies. They live in fear of my wrath and they will obey me in everything. And that is just the first step. I will rule one day, and the Sith shall rise again." 

The older man gave him a long look, then turned his face to stare out of the window into the setting sun. He smiled a bit, as if in remembrance of something: "Efficiency, Sidious, is so much easier to achieve when you have allies who share your dreams and goals." 

"My allies are sufficient." 

"They will betray you to the Jedi." 

"No. They are too greedy for that. And the Jedi don't pay for information." 

"Well done. But others might. You have intriguing allies, Lord Sidious." 

"And even more intriguing enemies." 

"The Jedi are hardly that." 

"I meant someone else." 

"Oh? I am not your enemy, Sidious. You should know that. But if your allies are sufficient, I wonder why you are here, looking for an apprentice." 

"Why? Your own master commanded thousands of people who only served to increase his power. He had the chance to lead the Sith to glory and had it not been for the Jedi—" 

"And that is my point, Sidious. My master is dead. I, on the other hand, have survived over the millennia. The allies you speak of are subject to different rules than yourself and you waste too much energy in keeping them under your control." 

"And you? You have no allies, you lurk in shadows, live in constant fear of the Jedi. You are a coward, Lord Kell." 

"My friend, you did not answer my question. Why do you seek the power of Khameir Sarin? Is it you, maybe, who is afraid? To rule as you wish you have to get rid of the Jedi first, since you cannot control them. And that you will not be able to accomplish all alone. I will tell you why you are here then: you yourself cannot move openly, the same you accuse me of. The Jedi would hunt you down as easily. But with an apprentice to carry out the deeds that will bring you closer to your goal you can move hidden, unseen. He can serve as distraction while you build up your influence among the feeble-minded. And he will remain a constant challenge for you, for he too will seek to surpass your power one day. Just the same you are trying with me now. But alone he is vulnerable. And if he dies you will have to start anew. Darth Bane was foolish to assume that by limiting our numbers he could escape detection and still let the Sith thrive. That is impossible. Brute strength will get you nowhere in the long run, Sidious, as you have realised already. Subtle manipulation of your allies and enemies though, will gain you all you desire." 

Darth Sidious frowned at his former master. "I always wondered why you did not stay with Exar Kun to fight the Jedi. Why you abandoned him and lived this small a life instead of one of glory. With your mind and power you could have been the one to follow the Dark Lords of the Sith. You could have wiped the Jedi off the face of this galaxy. Instead you watched your apprentices fail at that task one after the other." 

"Power is not what I crave. It is tiring, boring and meaningless. They never understood my lessons the way you did. And you too, my friend, doubt my words. You are just as impatient, in your way. But maybe you are smarter than they were, else you too would be dead by now." 

Sidious hesitated, stunned at the other's praise. But Kell had evaded answering his question yet again. "That may be as it is, Lord Kell. But what I am talking about is an endless game full of challenges and excitement. How could you of all people resist that?" 

"Ah, I see. Truly tempting. But once the rules have been established it too will become nothing but routine. No challenges will remain. But let us come back to our original topic." 

"Yes, indeed. Let me ask you a question: why are you here? You are looking for another apprentice. Incidentally the same man I have chosen for myself. I do not believe in chance or destiny, Lord Kell." 

"Games, Sidious, are best played with the worthiest opponents." 

"An honour." 

The older man smiled at him coldly. And Sidious realised that he had not meant him at all, but the Zabrak warrior. So, he had been right to assume that Roj Kell would not stick to the rules. Neither did he, true. But he did not play this double-game. Of course, his goal was to secure Sarin's allegiance and to get Kell out of the way permanently. But at least he took his former master seriously. To be denied even that sort of respect was highly infuriating. 

"I see I have insulted you, my friend. My apologies. You would be a worthy opponent, but I am not playing with you anymore. This has long become a lesson for you. The last I will ever give you." 

"Indeed. I have vowed to be master and I will be yours, in the end." 

Roj Kell did not answer. He was merely looking at Sidious, his green eyes as clear as a forest spring. There was no deception lurking there, but the younger Sith knew very well that the other would strike unexpectedly, at the core. A strategy that needed careful planning to make it so efficient and inescapable. And thinking that way took time. A lot of time. It was Kell's one weakness and Sidious planned to use it to the fullest. To blunt his strategy he had to move on Sarin fast. 

A sudden rustle of cloth alerted him to the fact that Roj Kell was rising from his seat. Again Sidious could not but admire the grace with which the man moved despite his age. There was something majestic about him, something that set him above mere men, plain for everyone to see. An aura of authority that Sidious knew he himself did not have and probably would never achieve. Still, his own methods served him well enough, and obviously better than whatever means Kell resorted to. 

Fear was what ruled the feeble-minded. Emotions were what drove them. Lord Kell may have a heart of ice, but the fire raging in Khameir Sarin's soul would burn it away as easily as Sidious was reading the other Sith's mind. And in the end even Roj Kell would have to accept that Sidious had surpassed his master already, despite the other's age and experience. Change was about to come, in a great many ways. The mocking smile on Kell's lips fuelled his anger even more. Come on, read my mind, he wanted to scream at the old man. But Roj Kell simply nodded at him before he turned around to leave. 

*** 

Leaving the tea-house Roj Kell was certain that he was no less upset than Sidious. But the anger did not last. There were two possibilities as to how the younger Sith could have found him here. And his mental shields were such that one could be ruled out entirely. So, Hath Monchar had met with Sidious and somehow the Sith Lord had convinced the Neimoidian to forgo this meeting. Which sparked the next question: was Monchar still alive or was he an associate of Sidious? He laughed aloud when the truth caught up with him. Of course. That was why Sidious had been so furious at all. Somehow he had his own game going with the Trade Federation. Right now he must suspect that Kell had found out about his ties to them somehow and had to believe that his former mentor was going to use his allies against him. Well, that was, actually, a tempting idea. Unfortunately now that Sidious had pointed the way, all caught up in righteous anger and hurt pride, Kell would have no other choice but to take advantage of him. Sadly enough. His sudden laughter was ebbing away into quiet chuckles. This was priceless. 

If he was not mistaken Hath Monchar would show up at the town-house eventually and Sidious would surely not stay in the tea-house twiddling his thumbs. Ah, how delicate these matters had become. Shaking his head he made his way home to await an undoubtedly embarrassed Hath Monchar and to talk to Solay. They would have time, at least an hour, and by then she should be suitably calm to welcome her visitor. The house was quiet as he strode through the courtyard, the small fountain in its centre trinkling softly in the summer breeze. So peaceful. He looked up to the balcony, but Solay apparently had other things on her mind than to wait for him. A pity. Entering the cool hallway at last he called one of the servants and asked him to fetch her to his study. The man nodded solemnly and left as quietly as he had appeared. The silence was not something that affected the ancient Sith, on the contrary. He found it refreshing in contrast to the steady hum of the city itself. 

His office was a neat affair, but then, order made his job so much easier. He moved to take a seat behind the desk, but turned around when he felt someone approach. The door flew open and Solay stormed into the room, her grey eyes flashing, and before he had a chance to react she lunged at him, her fingers digging into his collar and her weight dragging him down brutally as she fell to the floor, her limbs intertwined with his in a tangled heap. Roj Kell looked at her, raising his eyebrows. 

"You wanted something?" he asked coolly. 

Instead of answering she growled and took his head in her hands, her lips finding his easily. He returned her kisses fiercely and his hands wandered over her throat, caressing her, feeling her neck muscles underneath the palms of his hands. Solay kicked him in the groin viciously, making him jerk back, torn between laughing and crying. 

"Now, now. I thought we wanted to have some fun," he wheezed. 

"Did you now?" 

"Actually we have business to attend to," Kell replied coolly and rose, not bothering to help her up. She remained on the floor, sulking, with her arms crossed in front of her. He sighed deeply. "The representative of the Trade Federation will arrive any time now. You remember that I told you about him?" 

Solay frowned: "The investors?" 

"Yes." 

All of a sudden her face turned into a mask of cool countenance and she joined his side by the desk to study the most recent reports on their finances. "I believe that we have quite a lot of bargaining power, even considering the Trade Federation's size. Iridonia has great potential, not only agriculturally," she explained calmly, earning an amused glance from Kell. "Besides, having an on-world liaison of our skills and knowledge is favourable to them too. Very much so." 

He nodded slowly, then closed his eyes for a moment. When he looked at her he could see no madness lingering in her gaze, just that cool grey mixed with a bit of curious interest. But she was waiting for him to speak first. Good girl. "That is all very well, but we do have a competitor who might prove troublesome. Lord Algin will try to blunt our plans." 

"Then he has to die," she countered, eyes narrowed dangerously. 

"Have I told you lately that I like your approach to these matters?" 

"No. But it does not matter. I can activate some old contacts..." 

"Wait." Holding a hand up he stopped her in mid-sentence. "I have a suggestion already."   
  
  
  


*** 

Khameir was in the backyard, his arsenal neatly laid out on a piece of cloth on the ground before him. His hands moved through the sequence automatically, while his mind idly wondered why he was doing this. Habit, probably. And professional pride — certainly. Perhaps also vague hopes that one day soon he might be... what he deserved to be. More than a half-forgotten warrior, thrown away to gather dust in oblivion as soon as the fights are over, oh, so much more. Visions of power and glory unfolded in his mind, of banners raised, of knees bending and eyes rising towards him in soul-shattering fear and awe. 

His fingers moved on smoothly and efficiently, never faltering. Open the latch, remove the batteries, place the used batteries to your left. For years he had done this every day, ever since his uncle gave him his first weapon when he was six. And — he smiled at the memory — at the age of thirteen, hanging around at nights, watching girls, he had for the first and only time neglected his duty, and got a harsh thrashing. "Your blaster is the only woman you need to know!" his uncle had repeated, wielding his rod with excruciating precision, so that the boy's back had been sore for a week. But he remembered. And he had never failed since then, no storm, illness or injury had stopped him from preparing himself and his weapons every day, in the anticipation that his services might be called for. 

Click, detach the targeting mechanism. Click, remove the barrel. One, two, three precise movements to open, check and clean the lock. Close the latch, reattach the barrel, lay it down. 

He might have done it with his eyes closed. Thirteen _thijl_, or twenty-one standard seconds, had been his average time for completing the rifle when he was a boy under his uncle's tutelage — one of the best among his age-mates. He had got better since then. 

The targeter required great precision and was usually the most difficult to master. Besides carefully removing all dust, fingerprints and other smudges, you had to adjust it just right, so that it would hit a gadfly at seventy _lew_ just so, old masters used to say. 

With practised ease Khameir turned his focus inside, emptied his mind and checked the calibration of the instrument. An almost imperceptible turn of the lens focuser... There. Somehow, he had always _known_ when the thing was just right. That was one of the skills that made him special, better than others. 

Click-snap-turn, reattach the targeter, pick up the fresh batteries from your right, place them in position, lay down the rifle, place the used batteries into the reloading unit. Even though he hadn't made a shot during the previous day. 

Sitting back on his haunches, Khameir began to check his other weapons. A set of throwing knives (one of which had a nick in the blade and needed to be replaced; he intended to acquire another, heavier set anyway, as he thought his weren't accurate enough), a hunter's knife, and the traditional Zabrak warrior's pair of a long-sword — which had become mainly ceremonial and a mark of status over the past couple of centuries, but still no true warrior would go without one — and a matching shorter sword. Carefully Khameir unwrapped the long-sword from the cloth and pulled it out of its leather sheath, paying the weapon the respect it deserved. Indeed, perhaps the only thing the young warrior would have held in higher esteem would be the legendary lightsword of the Jedi — and truthfully Khameir couldn't have claimed even that with absolute certainty. He knew the legends of its power and beauty, but he had never seen one. 

The steel blade was polished to brilliance, reflecting a blinding ray of the sun on its edge. It was plain, slender, and beautiful in its unadorned simplicity. Perhaps Khameir would have preferred it otherwise, but he had no position and no right to attach rank ornaments to the hilt. But then, sometimes he questioned himself, did he really care. Yet the sword, and its shorter counterpart, were both made of the best materials, with superior craftsmanship, and they sat well in his hands. 

Khameir held the blade in his palms, feeling its weight and balance. Then in one flowing motion he stood up and entered into a sequence of classical sword technique movements, and the blade glinted in the sun as it began to dance. 

*** 

He whirled around and made his sword 'ready' when a presence suddenly manifested nearby,. Yet when the sharp blade was only mere inches away from the stranger's cheek, he froze. The figure before him looked mostly harmless — an elderly frail-looking man, wrapped in a long garb, with a deep cowl almost hiding his face. 

The stalker. 

Slowly a pale hand rose and pushed the cowl slightly back, revealing a sharp nose and icy grey-blue eyes. The mouth was drawn in a polite smile, but from the lines around his mouth and under his eyes, Khameir could see that the polite guise hid many, many meanings. The man chuckled. 

"Impressive. But I'm sure you can do better than that." 

Khameir slowly lowered the blade, but didn't reply. 

Slowly the man walked around him, looked at the weapons laid out there, reached out to touch one, but drew his hand back at a slight warning gesture from the young Zabrak. The older man's calculating gaze travelled over Khameir's clothes, the house, as if taunting him on purpose — oh how he resented the feeling of being an exhibition item! But it was necessary in his trade, from time to time. So he clenched his teeth and waited, only turning to always face the guest, as he moved around him. 

Finally the silence was too much, and Khameir gave up. "How can I serve you?" 

The edges of the older man's mouth curled up in a cool smile. "Khameir, Khameir. It is not I who seek service, you should." 

Khameir frowned. "Do not speak in riddles, Sir." 

"Tell me, young Khameir." The stranger made a slight gesture, encompassing the backyard and the small house. "Tell me — does your universe hold more than —_this_?" The Zabrak clenched his fists at the insult, and swallowed to contain his anger as propriety demanded. 

"If I can't be of service to you, Sir, I'll not keep you," he finally grated out. 

But the old man ignored the dismissal and smiled, pleased. "Angry! Ah. Good! A passionate one," he muttered as if to himself, but loud enough for Khameir to hear. Then: "We have much to talk about, young warrior. Very much indeed. Shall we find someplace to sit?" 

Khameir scowled, briefly searching for double meanings behind the words, but then bowed down to gather his things and quietly lead the man upstairs. There he gestured him to a chair, sat opposite him and waited for the other to begin. 

"Permit me to introduce myself, young Khameir. My name is Darth Sidious. I am a warrior on a quest, just as you are." 

"How do you know?" 

"It is plain in your eyes and your mind." 

"You can read my thoughts? You are a Jedi?" 

"No Jedi, Khameir Sarin. The Jedi are weak. They are no warriors." 

"And you are? You are unarmed." 

"My weapons are more subtle than that. And don't tell me that you would be defenceless without yours." 

The Zabrak nodded slowly. This man truly did understand the way of the warrior. "You are wise, it would seem. Then maybe you can tell me what it is I seek?" 

Sidious leaned closer, his hands folded lightly in front of him, the smile still in place. "You have no target, no goal. Your life feels empty, useless. There is nothing to fight for, nothing to protect. You are searching for guidance." 

"And you think you can provide it? I do not need a master," Khameir snorted contemptuously. 

"You are young, Khameir, and inexperienced. You will learn that there are forces far greater than those the eye can see, forces that rule your destiny. They have guided me here, to teach you." 

"Teach me? What are you talking about?" 

"Control, Khameir Sarin. Over yourself, over your fate, over others. Do you not sometimes curse the ineffective methods of your comrades, despairing over their cowardly hearts? There are ways, ancient ways, of going beyond the limits of mere men." 

The frown eased on the young warrior's forehead easily and he let his body relax again. This was what he had been searching for. Control. Efficiency. Wisdom. The ability to rise up and shake from himself the dirt, of poverty, eking out a living day by day, of contemptuous glances and dismissive gestures. To have a goal, to fulfil a purpose, to be the ultimate sword of vengeance and justice. Something to fill the dreary emptiness in his soul and rekindle the fire. 

"Tell me more." 

But Sidious rose, another enigmatic smile on his lips. "No. If you want more, you must come to get it. I can teach you, but I must be sure of your commitment. I'll leave you alone now, to make your decision." And he turned to leave. On the door, he turned once more. "Choose wisely, Khameir Sarin." And the door closed, leaving the young warrior alone. 

* * *


	3. Heart of Ice

  
  
  


**Heart of Ice**

  
  
  
  
  


"Are you awake? 

"How could I sleep with you by my side?" he asked, bemused, looking over at her slender form, half-hidden by the blankets. 

Gently brushing his hand over her left flank he watched Solay's pale skin tremble under his delicate touch. Raising her head to look at him lazily she heaved a contented sigh and rolled around to lie on her stomach. She had closed her eyes again, inviting him to continue. Kell took to tracing the soft curves of her back and leaned closer, his long hair brushing over her shoulders, a small smile on his lips. Solay was awfully ticklish, he knew. As expected she whirled around to face him, a deep frown prettily marring her forehead. 

But when she reached out to hit him Kell caught her right wrist expertly to turn her on her back. A move that did not prevent her from slapping him with her other hand. As Solay's fingers dug into his shoulder his smile deepened. He pushed her wrists down gently when he bent down to kiss her. She bit him hard, her teeth raking at the tender skin of his mouth viciously. With an almost imperceptible shake of his head Kell freed himself and licked his lips, tasting the sweet blood. She smiled at him and reached out to curl the long tresses of his hair around her left hand, twirling the loose strands around her fingers playfully. He watched in fascination. But then, suddenly, her face turned into a mask of anger as she drew him closer brutally, until their faces were only inches from each other. He was tempted to kiss her full lips again, but knew better than that. 

"Why so angry?" he asked instead. 

"You know why. It's what you meant, not what you said." 

Very gently he lay his fingers on her left wrist, the pressure on her pale skin increasing ever so slightly. But Solay withdrew immediately, letting go of his hair with a furious pout. She had learned fast, as everyone did. But it was true: if he fell asleep next to her he could not be certain that he would wake again, for she might decide that his blood would make a most beautiful pattern on the white sheets. Being with Solay was what made him feel more alive than he had for a long, long time. And he almost regretted that he would have to kill her now that another opportunity for his amusement had presented itself. Hath Monchar had left Iridonia again, but he would return. How he hated this back and forth instead of a quick solution. It was like a very careful dance, a courtship even. The Trade Federation would consider Solay's offer and they would decide soon. Until then Algin had to be dead and Khameir Sarin on the run. 

"Roj?" Solay asked, a hint of anger in her tone. 

"Leave me alone." 

She snorted angrily but did as he had ordered. Solay was sly, and he knew perfectly well that there was a lot of calculation and many tactics behind her madness. Undoubtedly she would find some way to make him pay, but he was looking forward to that. He loved surprises, from time to time. Just as he enjoyed a good challenge. And Khameir Sarin presented much more than that. Here was an opportunity not only to create a weapon of pure force, but also an occasion to test his last student's past accomplishments. Sidious spoke so confidently of power, but he had realized that his so-called truce with his allies put restrictions on him too. And he had felt those bonds, Kell was sure of it. Which was the reason why Sidious was looking for an apprentice right now. Undoubtedly the Sith Lord knew that his 'allies' would not take him seriously if he stood against them all on his own. But a warrior as adept and deadly as the young Zabrak could instill the fear necessary to distract them from Sidious' true intentions. 

Rising from the bed he stalked over to the window, relishing the cool night air on his skin. The Sith had not changed since Roj Kell had learned the lore from the former Jedi Exar Kun. Unfortunately. His master had been a bitter man, as attached to personal power as Kell saw Sidious becoming now. But he had failed in the end, because strength alone did not ensure victory. And Roj Kell had tried to teach his own students that lesson. Still, none of them had been able to resist the attraction of all-encompassing power. They wanted to rule, they wanted the galaxy to bend the knee to them. A foolish desire. Darth Bane had been the only one who had made an attempt at securing the knowledge of the Sith when he realized that their numbers would always betray them to their enemies and that the internal squabblings would always lead to defeat. So he had established the rule that there would be only two Sith at any time, a master and an apprentice. 

"Roj?" 

Annoyed, he turned his head to stare at the pale oval that was Solay's face. "What is it now?" 

"Nothing." 

He shook his head at her, then sat beside her, stroking her shoulder gently. Sometimes she acted just like a little child. His face darkened. A child defeated me once, he thought, his thoughts wandering back into the past. Bane had understood the necessity of working not only as a team, but also in specializing on personal skills. Logically the master was someone older, seasoned in battle, and the one who guided the actions of the apprentice. That one would have to gain knowledge and expertise first, was a weapon, a tool for the master. A focal point for the Dark Side, all raw, unbridled power and potential. In that the apprentice became more powerful than the master, but more vulnerable too. Over the millenia Roj Kell had watched his apprentices closely, had seen them die, sometimes at his own hand or that of the Jedi. And he himself had always remained in the background, secure in his power and his knowledge. The Dark Side, as tempting as it was, was a destructive force that would turn on its master if not controlled properly. Roj Kell was too old to relish in the breathtaking rush of anger, hatred and fear. And he had seen far too much to take the Dark Side lightly. There was a difference between true control and mere dominance. Once Sidious had learned that lesson Roj Kell would be content, even though he knew that the other Sith would kill him if given the chance. 

Tomorrow Khameir Sarin would be summoned to the town-house to discuss a deal with Solay Undan, a deal that would ultimately change his life, one way or the other. 

*** 

Khameir let his golden eyes wander over ... the goods presented to him, to lure him. Silky black hair cascading down across her cheeks and bare shoulders, accentuating the pale flawless skin, bare feet peering out of the rich dark blue silks of her skirts, toes with carefully painted blood-red nails rested upon a footstool with such apparent abandon that the young warrior had no doubt the woman before him was well aware of the impression she was making. So this was Solay Undan, the famous mad heiress. 

It would not be the first time for a job contract to take this sort of turn. But Khameir wouldn't let the heiress talk him into this. It wouldn't be professional, and it would damage his chances for a future immensely. He stood in a most formal posture, his head slightly lowered to acknowledge the lady's position, yet ... her feet were enticing. The long slender toes, with two wide golden rings decorating the long toe and the fourth, hinting at a touch of recklessness and a little barbarity, while the strong curve of the arch suggested an athleticism that might match his own. The delicate nails were carefully manicured to a most pleasing curve; the blood-red lacquer glossy and smooth, contrasting sharply with the gold of the rings. He gazed at the enticingly smooth skin, which never had graced a hard floor, or tripped upon a poorly set stone. They had a delicate scent from the rich lotion she lavished upon them but hours ago, a subtle scent of delicate lily, and an overture of rich musk. 

Khameir swallowed, hands clenching in a fist to keep his fingers from reaching out to her. Noticing his reaction, the corners of Solay's mouth curled up, as she raised her ever-changing hungry eyes slowly on him, measuring him up and down. 

"Hello, handsome." 

Her voice matched her appearance, a sensual, decadent alto with near-hysterical vibrating overtones of a spoilt child. A voice that went with veiled glances from heavy-lidded eyes, a voice that spoke directly with the most primal urges in the young Zabrak's blood. 

Forcefully Khameir jerked himself out of these thoughts. He kicked himself mentally for ogling the woman like a beast in heat. _I am not a beast!_ He withstood bravely the scrutiny, and when her eyes finally reached hers, he stared back with barely disguised defiance. 

"Khameir Sarin. You sent for me, Mistress Undan." 

"Did I?" Her voice barely concealed laughter. "Well, come over here if I did." 

Khameir stepped to the tiny table and remained standing there, suitably respectful. 

"Closer." A foot tipped further out from under the skirts to indicate the spot where she expected him to stand. Khameir obeyed, even though he made the frown on his face a touch fiercer. "Still closer... Nice... Very nice. You might do... You have a good taste, Roj." 

Startled, Khameir found they hadn't been alone in this room after all. Her lover, Roj Kell, was lounging in one of the deep armchairs. Arms crossed, he seemed to survey the scene with the barest attention, a slight frown creasing his brow. But the glance from his pale eyes seemed to bore into the young Zabrak more efficiently than a slender tip of a dagger. There was one who was more than he looked, Khameir thought. Interesting. A second one in such a short time. Seeing Khameir's surprise, Solay barked a laugh. 

"Oh yes, he's keeping a close watch on me—are you not, Roj? I might have a job for you, Khameir Sarin..." She produced a stack of credits and tossed it on the table; bare toes flexed and pushed it closer to the young warrior. Khameir didn't react. Solay smirked, sitting up. She knew the art of bargaining too well to miss the hint. "A _rewarding_ job for a good man." 

More credits were added to the pile. She rose, ran a hand over his forearm. Khameir shifted stiffly away from her touch, trying not to offend the woman, and at the same time to avoid being drawn into her games. After all, she was a lady, and he was nothing, a Loner, barely more than a ghost. 

"Why don't you sit down and let us discuss it. Now, let us see if I could persuade you... We'd be most _grateful_ if you could help us out of our current predicament." 

"Solay." 

The woman almost yelped at the cutting ice in Roj Kell's voice, her face distorting. Khameir permitted himself a tiny sigh of relief. "I'd be pleased to serve you," he offered gratefully, trying to forward the business. The next instant Solay seemed to calm down, and as she sat down again, her feet disappeared under her skirts to Khameir's great regret. He frowned. 

"It _is_ a rather discreet matter, you see, and one that requires great skill. Which you have, I'm sure." Khameir bowed. "We have a problem. A somewhat... inconveniently placed problem." 

Khameir was impatient with these games. "Yes?" 

A smile crept back on her face, as she rose, walking over to where the young warrior stood. "Ah, so sure of yourself... I like that. Algin." 

Khameir froze. This was not good. It would dash his hopes to gain any position under Lord Algin forever. Yet there was no way he could refuse now, and still retain his warrior's honour. He had been made part of a conspiracy, and now it was up to him to come out of it. The hesitation lasted only a moment. 

"Very well." 

"Good." Roj Kell rose from his chair. Thus dismissed, Khameir bowed and left, wondering. It was clearly Roj Kell who was behind this, and Solay was only a decoy, a name. But if so, why had Kell pushed her forward in the first place, and why had he afterwards revealed his role in it? There was clearly much more going on there. Was it supposed to be a test for him? If so, a test of what? 

*** 

Once Khameir Sarin was gone Kell gave Solay a slow smile that she returned with a teasing, yet challenging grin. She scooted over to the window to watch the young warrior stride across the courtyard toward the iron gate and Kell joined her presently, laying an arm over her shoulder absent-mindedly. Desire, ambition and stiff-backed pride, all these conflicting feelings had been almost overwhelming in Sarin. And a hint of anger. Anger at having let himself become distracted by a pretty face and ankle, thereby overlooking completely that he had not been alone with his contractor. When Solay had offered the job on Algin he had barely hesitated, all caught up in his warrior's honor instead of thinking about the consequences properly. 

Of course, the man was young and inexperienced in some ways, but this he should have learned in the long years since his uncle's death: loyalty was only desirable if it did benefit oneself. He should have opted against the offer and taken the news to Lord Algin instead, thereby securing his own position. That was what honor demanded, to protect his betters and to make them aware of any threats to them. Solay was a stranger to him, noone he would ever have need of, except maybe as an object of his youthful daydreaming. Lord Algin now, there was a man who could offer him much more than credits. 

And yet, Kell thought, loyalty and honesty too were a virtue, to a certain extent. But for a prospective Sith they were a hindrance on the way to greater being. He ran a hand over his forehead wearily. How could Sarin ever hope to overcome his master if he remained so fiercely honest despite circumstances? The worst thing though was his single-mindedness. He had no scope in the ways of the game, no strategic skills beyond those of a common warrior. A skill that had served him well and would continue to do so. But his vision was limited and most likely would remain so, since he had not managed to widen his knowledge in the past years. He was no boy anymore, but a grown man. 

Finding Solay looking at him thoughtfully he gave her a tight smile that she returned with one of her own before she turned back to watch Khameir vanish underneath the portal. Kell followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing. 

No, not a boy at all. The days of game and play were long over and yet Khameir Sarin was dreaming like a fool of greater glory instead of taking his chances. The favorable ones. Would he seek to please his master in hopes of great rewards? Would he be able to carry the flame instead of being burned by its intensity? Roj Kell was well aware of the fact that he let himself be guided by first impressions right now, but they seldom failed him. And he would still give the young warrior another chance to prove himself. 

"What do you think of him?" Solay asked pensively and turned to face him. Her earnest expression seemed alien on her for those who did not know her properly. But Kell could see that she was just waiting for his answer, obviously wanting him to confirm her own opinion. 

"He is adequate for the job," he answered smoothly. 

She clapped her hands in childish delight: "Oh, I just _knew_ you would agree!" Turning back toward the courtyard she whispered: "And he is pretty too." 

"Definitely." 

"You are not angry?" 

"Do I have reason for that?" 

"Of course not." 

But the reply was only half-hearted. Not that he cared too much either. And yet a flicker of jealousy made itself known momentarily. It was ridiculous. He had never been someone who would mourn the loss of possession, much less a lover. If she wanted to play with Khameir Sarin he would not stand in her way. She would learn soon enough that this only lead to trouble. Namely to Sidious. Ah, there was someone he needed to get riled a bit more too. 

"Solay, I will be back in the evening. Don't wait for me." She frowned at him, that trademark pout beginning to form again, but he shook his head and lay a finger on her full lips gently, asking her to remain silent. "I will be back, don't you worry." 

It came out more a threat than he had intended and the sudden, gleeful light in her eyes told him that he had hit right on target. She would play her game, definitely. And unfortunately for her, Sidious was not someone who tolerated outside interference in any of his schemes. But maybe a little distraction would be good for both him and Sarin. 

In fact, it would be just perfect. 

*** 

Hath Monchar looked just a little bit flustered and he sounded even more nervous, when Sidious finally received his call. 

"My lord! How can I be of service?" 

"The trade negotiations on Iridonia. How are they proceeding?" 

"Very well, my lord. They offer us unlimited access to ports and markets in exchange for investment. And—" 

"Call the trade off." 

"What?" 

"Call—it—off," Sidious repeated, each word sharp and cruel as a whiplash. 

"But ... but ... why?" 

"Because I say so. This deal would not benefit you in the least. Besides, I have my own interests in the planet." 

"Ah, I see." 

"I doubt it. Hath Monchar, I want you to tell Solay Undan, and only her, that the deal is busted. Give no reasons, save a matter of trustworthiness." 

"She has not been leading the negotiations." 

"I am well aware of that. Just do as I told you." The Neimoidian hesitated and Sidious nearly sighed in exasperation. Of course, the Trade Federation wanted something in exchange, a recompensation for that lost chance. "You may reopen negotiations with Iridonia later, once I am finished there. The planet is promising, after all." 

"Good, good. My lord, if I may ask-" 

"You may not." 

"Of course, my lord." 

Sidious broke the connection briskly, considering his next step. _So you think you can turn my allies against me? Well, I can do the same to you_. Solay Undan undoubtedly knew her lover well enough to realize that he was playing his own game. And if not, all the better. Currently Roj Kell was using her resources to build a base on Iridonia, that much was clear. A base! As if the old man had ever needed one. But Sidious would surely not let him play with his own allies. The Trade Federation would work for him, noone else. And besides, if the deal got busted the government would not look so favorable on Kell's endeavors anymore. 

_And that is not everything. Not by a long shot._ Smiling to himself Sidious raised his head ever so slightly. For that was the trick: ensnare your prey until it had no way left for escape. Kell did not work that way. What he did was use his victim's own feelings against them. A clever tactic, but this time it would fail. 

*** 

Khameir looked up at the knock on his door. "Enter." The woman slipped in and pulled away the scarf hiding her face, and Khameir forgot to close his mouth, suddenly unable to say anything. They stared at each other for a long moment. 

"Well, aren't you going to bid me to sit down?" she asked pertly. 

Khameir looked at his hands and put away the—something—he'd been holding; he wasn't even sure what he had been doing before she arrived. "Please, do, Mistress Undan," he finally muttered. 

He tore away his eyes from the pretty face and lowered his gaze to the feet he had worshipped. A mistake. She wore dainty sandals and a silver chain was adorning each perfect ankle. His mouth went suddenly dry as he thought of what he might do with her feet and tiny drops of perspiration appeared on the tender flesh around his horns. He would have wanted nothing more than to kneel before her and hold these feet in his palms and kiss them reverently... Realizing where his thoughts were wandering, Khameir tore his gaze away. _Even were she free, she's still way above you,_ he chastised himself, trying to keep his eyes on the floor before him. And feeling horribly clumsy for standing there, not sure what to do and where to hide his hands. 

"What can I do for you, my Lady?" Almost a whisper. 

"Khameir." 

Smoothly she stepped up to him, but stopped when he made no move. Her sheer presence and his youthful hormones combined had effectively incapacitated the warrior, and he tried to keep his gaze away from her, as if willing the beautiful young woman—a temptress, an apparition sent to seduce him—to disappear. She sighed softly, placed a palm on his shoulder, then moved around him until the hem of her skirts disappeared from his field of vision, to appear again behind the heels of his boots. Leaning a cheek against his broad back, she snaked her arms around his waist. For once in his life, regardless of all his warrior's training and superior reflexes, Khameir Sarin was totally helpless. He couldn't come to a decision, warring between propriety and desire, the need to get away from her tempting touch and the inbred command not to touch another man's woman. Waves of heat ran up and down his spine. He pressed his teeth together, not to let a moan escape; and it was sheer willpower and years of training that he didn't throw the wanton woman on his bed and take her here and now. 

"Khameir," her seductive voice whispered as her warm breath caressed the nape of his neck, "am I so ugly in your eyes that you cannot look upon me?" 

"No!" he rasped, immobilized in the prison of her arms and horrified that she might have misunderstood him so completely. 

"Then—look at me." 

"No! Mistress Undan, please—you don't have to do this. You know I would do what you bid. Do not tempt me so." 

"Khameir, Khameir." She laughed softly, letting his name roll over her lips like velvet. "This has nothing to do with... you know what. This is for me." Something pressed against his back between his shoulder blades—her mouth? "And for you." 

When he didn't reply, her fingers found their way between the folds of his tunic. He shivered, feeling almost dizzy, and a tiny gasp slipped from him. "Don't tell me this art is unknown to you," she teased. "Can it be? Nah, surely not. One eyeful such as yourself, and nobody?" 

"This... will only bring doom upon us," he whispered, fumbling to find her wrists and pulling them away in a half hearted attempt to release himself from her grasp, yet wishing that she wouldn't let him go. She happily complied, sensing the young man was almost subdued, but still desperately hanging on to his beliefs. Solay's clever hands slipped out from his grasp and ran over his arms to his shoulders, finally turning him to face her—and he let it happen. 

"Perhaps," she laughed lustfully, "but it'll be worth it, I promise." 

*** 

Khameir opened his eyes at the sudden cold by his side, to see that Solay Undan had slipped out of the bed and was already wrapping herself in her wide and intricate gown. Drowsily he sat up, reaching for a glass of water to down the foul taste of depravity. How in the name of the merciful goddess had he let this happen? 

"Do you hate him?" he asked. 

Big eyes looked at him in puzzlement from a tangle of long black hair."Who?" 

"Lord Kell." 

Solay laughed. "Roj! He will never know!" 

"I think you underestimate him." He sought for his own robes in a heap of garments and blankets, found them and began to dress. 

"Don't be such a wuss." She sat before his small mirror, trying to comb and braid her hair as well as she could. Now and then her curious eyes traveled to the Zabrak's reflection, as he sat there, a tunic in his hands, looking at her. No emotion reflected in her eyes, no happiness, no remorse, no passion, no fulfilment. Only perhaps a measure of self-satisfaction. 

An image of Solay's lover arose in his mind, the snow of his hair and the ice of his eyes, so piercing that he had only withstood their gaze for a moment before turning away. Whoever first said that eyes are the mirror of soul had never seen that particular pale green pair. And whatever abyss lay behind them... Khameir wasn't even entirely sure if that was real, or a mere projection. The young warrior had rarely known fear, but as sure as the skies, he knew that given a choice, he would not want to have Kell as his enemy. And yet, to be dismissed so flippantly by a woman... In a way, Khameir felt sorry for Roj Kell. He didn't bother to reply, wondering what it was that had happened between them. Solay Undan, much as he liked her form, was not only mindless, she was heartless. 

Finally her curiosity won out and she could not stand his silence any longer. "Why don't you say anything? You think I did this for revenge? And what do you know of Roj?" she challenged him. 

"You live with him, I am sure you know better," he shrugged, not taking the bait. 

"Don't you dare to play with words, Khameir Sarin! I know the game better than you." 

He laughed, then pondered possible answers, trying to find a way to describe what he had never tried to describe before, while he padded to the kitchen to make tea. Only when they both sat down at the table did he continue. "Roj Kell is—feels—more than he appears to be. Powerful. Deep. You cannot fool him, Solay Undan." The words seemed wrong, but there weren't any better ones he could think of. "I'm telling you this because I do not wish you harm." 

Solay merely smirked. Then, "Just out of curiosity. How do you know him? Have you worked for him before?" 

Surprised at the question, Khameir slowly set the mug down. "No, what makes you think so?" 

"He sought you out. You specifically." Solay's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What is it between you?" 

"I assure you, there's nothing," the Zabrak chuckled. And then suddenly he thought of something, something he could have seen before. "Unless..." Those two men whose presence had affected Khameir like no one else's. Could it be, that out of thousands upon thousands of humans and Zabraks walking under the sun of Iridonia by the grace of the goddess, these two were connected somehow? 

"What?" Solay demanded, grabbing him by the sleeve. 

"Nothing of importance, probably. Just that he suddenly reminded me of someone who came to me the other day." 

"Who?" 

Khameir reached out with his free hand to run fingertips lightly over Solay's cheek—to calm her, maybe to distract her. "One Darth Sidious," he whispered, curious how she would react. 

Solay started at the name, and quickly covered her reaction. But not quickly enough. Khameir had seen it, felt it. "You know him, don't you?" he asked. "Who is he, really? What is it that drives him? Who or what does he work for? What does he really want?" 

"Want? Didn't he tell you then?" 

He barked a short laugh. "Of course he told me. He said he wants to teach me. But what I don't know is why. I doubt this is his ultimate motive." 

Solay's eyes narrowed into slits. "Teach you." she snarled angrily. "I see." 

"What?" 

Her face contorted in a mask of wrath, she jumped up, her chair crashing down. Khameir hurried to her, fearing another fit of madness. "Teach you! You!" she shrieked almost inhumanly, banging her fists against his chest. "Roj Kell, I'm going to kill you!" 

He grabbed her wrists, holding her; and when, after a few moments, she seemed to calm down, he brought up her hand to kiss her palm, shushing to soothe her. Her angry mood seemed to dissipate as unexpectedly as it had come. "Let me go," she sighed finally. 

"Mistress Undan—" 

"I am quite alright. Thank you, Khameir Sarin." She looked at him oddly, the corners of her mouth twitching as if unsure whether to smile or snarl. Finally she reached out a hand and tugged playfully at his side horn. "Such a clever boy. Of course you should doubt his motives. Always. Good-bye, Khameir Sarin." She pushed away from him and slipped out. 

"Good-bye..." Khameir muttered to the door. 

*** 

Lord Algin seemed pleasantly surprised to see him again. But Kell could sense the concern behind that friendly facade easily. It was about time to eliminate this threat, or else Algin would move against Solay himself. Very well. He sat down on the soft chair the noble had indicated. For a moment he took the time to look out of the window. Outside the garden boasted a whole array of summer blossoms. Red and dark purple mixed with pale blue and vibrant orange against the backdrop of the foliage's deep green. It dazzled his eyes and made him smile involuntarily. Evening was falling quickly, now that the day had crossed the border toward the night and he fancied that he could see the stars peek out of the darkening sky already. 

"Lord Kell?". Turning his head slowly to face him Kell smiled. 

"It is such a beautiful evening, my lord. Forgive my absent-mindedness." 

"No, no, I understand. Summer is my favorite season on this world too." 

Leaning forward the ancient Sith nodded at his counterpart gravely: "Lord Algin, I have urgent news for you." 

"What news." 

"It is—ah—a delicate political matter." He wrung his hands as if fighting himself and averted his eyes to frown at the wall. 

"Of what sort?" 

"You know, my lord, that the competition has reached a whole new level on this planet." 

"Astoundingly enough there was no competition to speak of before you came." 

"Indeed, that is true. But this is taking a turn that I personally cannot approve of." 

"And what would that be?" 

Cool green eyes regarded the noble icily: "Your enemies have sworn to kill you." 

"What?" 

"They came to me, hoping to gain my consent, but I refused to give it." 

"Lord Kell, you are the second most powerful man on this planet. Why would you refuse a chance like this?" 

He sighed deeply and shook his head. "Such methods may be common on Iridonia, but I am not used to this. In my opinion the mind is the primary weapon of a sentient creature." 

"You are a businessman, Lord Kell, no warrior," Algin explained not without pride and straightened himself unconsciously. "We, the people of Iridonia, are not like your friends on Coruscant." 

A humorless smile lit up the Sith's face. He had no _friends_ on Coruscant. Well-meaning enemies perhaps, but no allies. "Maybe you are right, my lord. There is a lot that I do not know yet, it would seem." 

"I have always thought that one never ceases to learn," the other replied calmly. 

"All too true. Lord Algin, permit me to make you an offer. Concerning a common friend of ours, Khameir Sarin. Have you thought about that lieutenantship?" 

"Yes—" 

"I have asked him to act as your bodyguard and I must say that he is quite eager to enter your service. Apparently he hopes that this way he can convince you of his abilities." 

"Oh, he has already convinced me. A clever move, that. If he can save my life I will be indebted to him. He is more than just a warrior, it would seem." 

"I am sure that he will not disappoint you." 

"No. But why should I trust _you_?" 

Roj Kell laughed aloud. "No subtleties, my lord. I like that. Why indeed?" 

"And your answer?" 

"Trust me or die," he answered softly. 

"You are a quick study, Lord Kell. But you have not convinced me yet." 

Chuckling to himself the Sith Lord nodded. Indeed. But then, he had not even started this persuasion. And Algin would never know what hit him. Once he was finished here he would bring Khameir Sarin the good news. Roj Kell was looking forward to the young warrior's reaction. If he made the right choice ... The smile deepened. If Khameir Sarin could prove that he was willing to go through with his pledge with all its consequences the ancient Sith might reconsider taking him as apprentice. If not ... Ah, he would see about that when the time was right. 

*** 

Cursing, Khameir slapped his thigh angrily. It seemed as if he had a wrong pair of hands today—he just wasn't able to adjust the targeter of his blaster. The feeling that he had always had, which had told him just the right precision point, was missing. To be honest, he wasn't able to concentrate at all. Of course, he knew where to place the blame: that witch-woman who still poisoned his thoughts and robbed him of his peace of mind. Ridiculous. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply; then laid the blaster aside, deciding to take a break to calm down, instead of continuing this farce of a warrior's art. As it was he had already spent a shamefully long time on it. 

He wasn't afforded that little amount of rest though, it would seem; through the window he saw a sleek and shiny speeder pulling up to his house, bearing the Undan family crest. A tall, cloaked figure climbed up, his long white mane glistening in the light of street lanterns. Roj Kell. 

Khameir knew well enough that there was only one person in this house who might be of interest to Lord Kell, and there was no doubt everybody in the neighborhood knew that, too. What puzzled him though, was why Kell would proclaim his ties to the lone warrior so openly. What would he achieve from this? Even if the visit was to call off their—contract—surely making it so public would equal to admitting they had it at all! Then the only solution would be that Solay... No, it couldn't be. Kell didn't strike him as someone who would bring private matters into the public like that. But he couldn't think of any other reason ... Unless ... 

Unless his instinct about the more than casual similarity between Roj Kell and Darth Sidious was right. Instinct told Khameir that there was something that reached out from them to touch him. So perhaps their interest in him was based on the same grounds? However, he couldn't figure out the whats and whys of it, so he dismissed the feeling as mere wishful thinking. A desire to be wanted and recognized. 

Besides, Khameir reasoned, this wasn't meant to be anyway. Even if Kell would make an offer now, Khameir was sure the man would sooner or later learn of the tryst he had had with Solay—as he had told her earlier, this man could not be deceived. A mutually beneficial relationship could not be started on foul soil. Well, no use speculating—there was only one way to find out for sure what it was all about. 

"The door is open," he called when the footsteps stopped behind his door. 

"You were expecting me?" Kell said, letting himself in. 

"I saw you arrive." 

"Ah." Kell flashed him a smile and closed the door carefully. He looked around, noted the dismantled blaster and gave the Zabrak a probing glance. Khameir wondered if the older man could see the signs of his perturbation in it. They sat down."I will come straight to the point," Roj Kell announced. "There's something you need to know to plan the work. There's been a slight—shall we say redirection—of plans. You will gain entrance to Algin's household; I've taken care of that." Khameir's eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. "You will go to Algin's household as a bodyguard, my special gift to him." 

"Bodyguard! But—" 

"No buts. Then... you understand, of course. Discretion is most essential." 

Khameir understood, of course. In his not so long life he had seen enough machinations to recognize one. Whatever the outcome, Kell would appear innocent, a friend who had done what he could to protect Algin. Whereas Khameir, as a masterless warrior, would automatically be suspect. He was aware that the scheme would put him in double danger, but that was not what rankled him most. It was not assassination, clean and pure, a test of skills and power. He was required to actually _betray_ his victim first. Protest flared up in Khameir as he glared at Kell with a badly concealed disapproval. 

"Pardon, my lord, I do _not_ understand. What is it you actually want to achieve?" 

Kell laughed. "Observant. Isn't it quite obvious then?" 

"I've pledged myself to your service, and I think I would serve you better if I understood your goals." 

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. This is not the time or place to make sure." 

Khameir jumped to his feet and paced back and forth in agitation. Finally he came to a rest before the other man. "Lord Kell, you want me to go to Lord Algin, give him my word of honor to protect him as I would protect you, and then betray him." 

"Well, you could put it like that, I suppose," Kell said lazily. 

"I do not like it." 

"You've made that abundantly clear. But the question is, will you do it?" 

"And my other option is to back out from my pledge to you, to betray you. You're more than devious, Lord Kell. Will you release me?" 

"I will not." Roj Kell arched an eyebrow. "So?" 

Khameir lowered his eyes in defeat once again. "I do not have a choice." 

Kell sighed. "Young Khameir, you will never be on the winning side unless you make your beliefs and principles your slaves, not the other way round." 

"The world is based on relations between individuals," the warrior said with barely restrained passion. "If there weren't proper rules in this game, where do you think the world would be?" 

"Survival is the key, Khameir." 

"But not survival as a deceitful beast! Survival as a civilized being." 

Roj Kell gave the idealistic young man a mirthless smile. Leaning back in his chair he closed his eyes briefly. How to bring his point across? With a sigh he looked again at the earnest expression on Sarin's face, so torn between righteous anger and disgust at his methods. Interesting. But unfortunate_. Always know your own mind._ Khameir Sarin did not know what he truly wanted. Maybe he needed some help there... 

"I understand what you mean. I have studied many different civilizations. Tell me, Khameir Sarin, what is it that they have in common?" 

"Rules." 

"Exactly. And you expect me to abide by the same rules you yourself perceive as just, am I right? But you are a warrior. Without rules you could not survive. I, on the other hand, am no warrior at all. I do not care to serve and I follow the rules for as long as they are useful to me." 

"But that way you will not be accepted by any community." 

"Not at all. As you know, I am very well respected on Iridonia." 

"I see," Khameir conceded hesitantly. "But still, it is dishonorable to take advantage of those who abide by the rules. Else there would be nothing you could rely on." He frowned. Undoubtedly he was trying to bend his warrior's mind around the complex concepts of politics. Good. 

"The goal itself is important, not the way to reach it. Use the rules to gain advantage, but do not let them guide your actions primarily. Rules are not for the likes of us, Khameir Sarin." 

"That is disgusting." 

Roj Kell's eyes never changed at the insult, thereby giving Sarin no warning and no chance to react when he brought his hand around to take the warrior's right wrist in a bone-breaking hold. The other's golden eyes were unfathomable, but Kell could feel the pain and betrayal flaring suddenly in the young man's mind. He smiled at him coldly. 

"Tell me, why should I have admonished you for your ill-considered words before executing the punishment? I could crush your hand now and you will cease to be a threat to me, but I will not do so. Because you can still be of use to me." 

"Let go," the Zabrak hissed, but did not try to free himself. 

"Not yet. First you will listen: Always consider the consequences before you act, be aware of your enemies and their motives. Do not engage in a fight when there is another way to defeat them. Do you understand?" 

"Yes. Of course. That is the way of the warrior." 

"Indeed. But you are not willing to walk that path, Khameir Sarin. You are afraid." 

"What?" 

"I have seen it clearly, my young friend. You hesitate to take advantage of your fellow beings' weaknesses. Undoubtedly you would give an enemy no quarter, but that is not the point. The point is to further your power and to survive. And to do both you have to eliminate threats before they become threats." 

Those golden eyes narrowed slightly: "And what happens when destiny takes control of your life? You cannot plan on everything." 

Releasing the other Roj Kell barked a sharp laugh and shook his head. So afraid of control, this boy. He was craving guidance and approval, as if his own judgement meant nothing. "You are right, of course. That you cannot do. Which is why you have only one true ally: yourself. Your strength, your wits, your courage. All that is at your disposal. And in time you will find that there is nothing else you need." 

"That cannot be. There is nothing—" But then Khameir stopped himself short. His lips compressed into a thin line. Confusion, calculation and anger were all mixed in his head. What was he thinking? Roj Kell rose suddenly, intent on breaking the young man's concentration. 

"It is possible, young Khameir. Very much so," he told him quietly. 

"Yes, I know." 

"You do? Astounding that you do not use your knowledge then." 

Khameir raised his head defiantly: "Maybe I will." 

"But first you will go to Lord Algin." 

"Yes." 

*** 

Sidious was eyeing the beings assembled around Hath Monchar with a keen eye, but kept in the shadows, a gloomy presence, visible and yet elusive. From time to time one or two of the bounty-hunters would look over at him, scrutinizing, suspicious glances, but he paid them no heed. The Neimoidian would instruct them as to who their prey was supposed to be before he met with Kell to call off their deal. The alien was positively shaking with fear inside, even though he tried hard to maintain a calm air. But the Sith Lord knew perfectly well that the bounty-hunters had already deemed Monchar insignificant. And he had no doubt that Roj Kell would have no trouble getting to the bottom of the Trade Federation representative's anxiety. The question then was how he would react to this subtle provocation. Sidious intended to throw his opponent off balance. If he could make it so that Kell had to deal with different problems, the other would have no chance to rearrange his schemes. And that was the ultimate goal. To show him that he had lost. 

Once the thugs had left hath Monchar turned toward him, his large eyes questioning. "My lord?" 

"What do you want now? You have your orders. Carry them out. And get out of my sight." 

Dismissing the man Sidious started pacing the length of the room angrily. 

Even though the he had considered, and was still considering, killing his former mentor, he knew perfectly well that Roj Kell could still be of some use to him. Especially concerning the future of his former apprentice. _Knowledge is the key to everything, _he mused.Kell had shown him but the smallest fraction of his vast, three thousand year old wisdom and there were some things Sidious would love to know very much. For example how the other had survived for so long. 

Stopping his pacing he looked up sharply and frowned, thinking. There had been no clues to that, no other examples of a Sith that old, except, of course, Exar Kun, Kell's master. But that was an existence Sidious did not crave in the least, the same as he despised Kell's way of living. The old man claimed that he did not want power and yet he did not follow his own lessons at all. Contrary to what he was trying to teach Sidious he had no allies, noone to serve him, noone to support him. Of course the Sith Lord understood why Roj Kell's knowledge did not apply to himself: he was viewing himself as a creature existing outside society, passing through, so to say, but remaining unattached. 

A cruel thought formed in Sidious' mind. Wouldn't it be just wonderful if he could manage to capture this magnificent example for independence and deny him what he desired most? To deprive him of his freedom, of his restless wanderings, and make him experience true power. A power Sidious did not intend to give up at all. It was a lesson Roj Kell had taught him maybe involuntarily. In a way the younger Sith believed that Exar Kun had never mastered his student's mind, and history showed that Kell did not accept any master. His apprentices had tended to be short-lived right up to Darth Bane. Bane had not only founded a reformed Sith Order, he had also managed to defeat his teacher. A feat Sidious was hoping to repeat and surpass. He had vowed to be Kell's master, the first one and the last. And he would learn the secret of immortality in the end. 

*** 

"You what?" Lord Algin growled, glaring in disbelief at the man kneeling respectfully before him. 

"I have served you well and faithfully, my Lord. I have proven my worth, risking my life, and not only once but several times. You have seen what I am capable of. I feel I have a right to ask this." 

"Right! What right? You—you mannerless..." Algin sputtered in rage. 

"I _deserve_ that. You should have made me lieutenant after I brought your wife back to you! You know that, as do I!" 

"_I_ decide it! Whether or not I consider you suitable is my decision and mine only! Who do you think you are, playing your antics here like this?" 

Their voices were loud enough to carry through the door, should anybody be eavesdropping. Khameir shifted his weight and moved his hand imperceptibly. "Then you are not going to make me lieutenant of your guard?" 

"No! Not in my life! Really, the insolence! Wha—" 

Lightning fast, Khameir made his move; and by the time Algin looked what it was that had caused the sharp pain, the warrior drew out the bloody blade from his body. He rose in one fluid motion, his golden eyes staring emotionlessly as the red stain on the nobleman's robe grew. Then Algin fell on his knees before Khameir, a ghastly reversal of their former positions; still shocked, the man stared at his assassin. 

"But I... I... did...wh..." 

An outstretched hand, not willing to let go. Blood-stained lips straining to form words which would not come out. With a thud Algin's body fell before Khameir's feet. 

So. Done. He cleaned his blade in the nobleman's robes, sheathed it and listened for any unusual activities behind the doors of Algin's private chambers. There were none. The body was soon deposited in the garbage pit. 

He glanced into the anteroom where Lord Algin had kept bodyguards after Kell had advised him of the threat to his life. Two figures sat dutifully at a table where he had placed them before entering Algin's private study. They looked for all the world as if having a lazy afternoon nap — if it weren't for the dark wet stains on their clothes. Naturally suspicious of an unknown Loner who had unexpectedly been allowed so close to their lord, they had drawn their swords swiftly, yet they had not been prepared. A lone warrior is bound to learn a trick or two to survive, after all. They had let their judgement be clouded by preconceived ideas, Khameir thought disdainfully, and that had been their weakness. They had paid with their lives. No doubt they would be missed soon, and others would come looking for them. It mattered little, though. 

Carefully, holding his weapons at the ready, Khameir checked if there were signs of anybody else entering the room, but it was afternoon siesta time and the castle was humming its usual drowsy afternoon song—curtains flapping in the hot wind, maids chatting in the courtyard over laundry, the distant rattle of pots and kettles from the kitchens. 

While the little show he had staged with Algin had been for the benefit of Roj Kell, now it was time to think of his own wellbeing. He dragged the bodies of the two guards inside and incinerated both their faces with his blaster, completely wiping out their features. Then they joined their master. 

The last thing he did before leaving was make a comm call to Kell over Algin's personal secure channel. _Beep... beep... _He bit in his lip impatiently. "Come on, take it!" Seconds passed as tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead, but the call went unacknowledged. 

"Idiot!" he hissed to himself finally when he couldn't afford to wait any longer. Already he had dawdled too long. So, Kell didn't want anything to do with him. _But of course not_, he sneered at himself as he slipped out. 

Safely out of the compound, he paused briefly, then disappeared into the underbrush, just as an anguished wail sounded from the wing where the lord's rooms were located. 

*** 

Algin was dead. The news was out and already people were crying out for the head of Khameir Sarin. That one had seen the trap laid out for him far too late. And if he was mourning his lost future now it was of no concern to the ancient Sith who lay on his bed very quietly, a faint smile on his lips. Sarin would scold himself for his stupidity and for taking Kell's offer at all. Undoubtedly he would run to Sidious for help. Let him. It would not be of use to any one of them. Roj Kell was just a tiny bit angry at the young warrior's choices. Hadn't he offered him a chance to be more than just a tool? Apparently Sarin had not been ready for that. The question now was if Sidious would give him an opportunity to redeem himself and try again. Kell doubted it. What a waste this whole affair had been. He shook his head involuntarily, prompting Solay to prop herself up on her right elbow and look down at him. 

"What?" he asked quietly, suddenly suspicious. 

"Who is this Darth Sidious?" 

He did not even hesitate: "A friend." 

Solay's mouth quirked in annoyance. Undoubtedly she was surprised that he did not ask her further. "And he is a good friend?" 

"He was my last apprentice." 

Her eyes froze him in their icy glare and her lips curled into a feral snarl. "Your apprentice?" she hissed menacingly. 

"Yes. You do not think that I owe you any explanation, do you?" 

"Of course not." 

"Good. By the way, how did you know that Sidious is here?" She hesitated. "Don't bother. I am well aware of who told you." 

"Are you?" 

"Khameir Sarin. I am neither blind nor ignorant, my dear." 

"You wanted to teach him, am I right?" 

"Jealous?" 

Suddenly she was above him, her face inches from his, her eyes throwing angry sparks: "You always refused to instruct me and now you were going to take up that scruffy Loner as your apprentice?" 

"Which would be none of your business either. Besides, you seemed to have enjoyed that one's company very much." 

"Not my business? You bet it is!" she screamed and her fingers dug into his flesh viciously. "And you are right," she hissed, "I did enjoy him." 

"Solay, you are speaking out of place. But I will not punish you for this if you promise to keep out of my affairs from now on. That includes the Trade Federation, Sidious and Khameir Sarin." 

"You can't be serious. Roj, we have been working on this together." Her voice was breaking. 

"And who do you think you are to me, Solay?" 

That shut her mouth. Her jaw working furiously she sat up. "I am not certain," she replied at last. 

"Well, I am certain. Solay, don't try to compete. Keep away from Sarin and you might survive." 

"Why should I try to establish contact with him now?" she snorted contemptuously. "He killed Algin and he is a wanted man. Obviously wanted not only by the authorities. This is a game between the two of you, am I right?" 

"You may believe whatever you want to, my dear." 

"This Sidious, is he any good?" 

He smiled at her coldly: "In what respect?" 

"You know what I mean." 

"Indeed I do. But only time will tell. For now we have to call the Lords together and make that proposition, don't you think?" 

"You are right, of course. You are always right," she added acidly and turned away from him. 

Roj Kell shrugged. Her jealousy was unjustified. Khameir Sarin did not have even half of her ruthless and devious mind. Unfortunately. Now that the young warrior was out of the game he could concentrate on Sidious once more. Whatever the younger Sith was up to, he would undoubtedly experience a pleasant surprise with Sarin. Something Kell was counting on to soothe his opponent's need for vengeance that might otherwise get him killed once this battle ended. Additionally Hath Monchar had asked for another meeting and it was scheduled for tomorrow. Tomorrow. Later that day Solay would ask the Lords to attend a reception at her country residence. They had to move swiftly to keep on top of the wave Algin's sad demise had sent rolling across the plains and mountains of Iridonia. But some things could not be sped up, sadly enough. 

A scowl formed on Kell's face as he thought about the impending meeting Hath Monchar had managed to delay time and again. Hadn't the Neimoidian practically begged him for an appointment just a few days back? Ah, but then he had been busy with preparing the government for a new turn of economic leadership on Iridonia. Funny, wasn't it, that they saw nothing but a businessman out for an advantage over his fellow competitors. Algin's death would raise suspicion, of course, but with the support of the Trade Federation at his back Kell could master this cliff easily. Politics was not for the weak of mind and spirit and corruption was part of the game. The only difficulty was that everyone sought to secure their own position or even rise above it. Playing those opposing stances against one another then was the safest way to gain an edge without others noticing. At least that would be the usual way for Kell. But now that Sidious was here ... So far Khameir Sarin had been the wild card in their game, but now that he was taken care of, the Lords would be the key. And Hath Monchar. 

*** 

Sitting cross-legged on the wooden boards of the uppermost floor of his newly acquired homestead, Darth Sidious was meditating on the most recent events on Iridonia. Lord Algin's death had come unexpectedly. After all, the Sith had been under the impression that this man, the leading figure on the planet, would become Roj Kell's puppet once he had finished playing with that Undan woman. And yet he had let him be murderd by noone else than Khameir Sarin. Kell was no fool, Sidious knew, and he was fairly certain that the old man had not had this move planned. After all it deprived him of any access to the Loner, for how could he openly take the young warrior as his servant after what he had done? Impossible. Whereas Sidious, as unknown stranger, had been given free rein over the Zabrak, if he chose to. Pondering the implications he shook his head, frowning slightly. 

They had started the game on the question of who would gain control over Sarin, hadn't they? Which meant that now, with the warrior having maneuvered himself into such a hopeless situation, it would be Kell's best bet to bring the man to justice and to deny Sidious the prize that was his by rights anyway. And he might succeed in that if there weren't that slight problem with the Trade Federation. As per Sidious' order Hath Monchar would inform the Iridonian government of the unfortunately busted deal with Solay Undan shortly before he met with Roj Kell to bring him the bad news. Undoubtedly the Lords would let the old man fall without blinking an eye and then his former mentor would finally realize that some people were best not competed with. Sidious smiled at that. Of course, this meant that he needed another ally first, to implicate Kell. And he already knew the perfect victim for the job. Solay Undan would not want to go down with her lover, that he was certain of. So maybe he should pay the lady a visit. 

*** 

It was the next morning that saw Darth Sidious patiently waiting for Kell to leave the town-house on the way to Hath Monchar. So, the old man was still keeping up the appearance that he was acting without Undan's consent. As if she had had anything to say in the matter in the beginning of the deal with the Trade Federation! Once the other was safely gone Sidious stalked into the pleasant court-yard, a smile on his lips. But as he walked further he was careful to keep his face hidden. 

"My lord, what can I do for you?" one of the servants intercepting him at the main door inquired politely. 

"I would see Mistress Undan. Now." 

"Of course." 

The hallways were spacious and cool, beautifully decorated and surprisingly quiet. And Solay Undan herself was no surprise either. Roj Kell undoubtedly had a good taste in any respect. Sidious found himself smiling cruelly at the young woman rising from her seat to meet him. Wouldn't it be fun to play with her a bit just to annoy the old man? But no, she could still be of use to him. And besides, he doubted that his former mentor would care much. Her long black hair and pale eyes made her look like a sibling to a younger Kell and for a second Sidious wondered about that. By then though his hostess had come around her desk to regard him coolly. 

"I do not know you, but I have heard of you," she told him, her alto voice cutting through the silence mercilessly. "You are Darth Sidious?" He nodded, slightly surprised by this turn of events. Solay Undan gave him a grim smile. "I thought that you might want to see me," she continued and suddenly there was a completely different tone in her words. Sidious laughed inwardly. Did she really think she could seduce him? But his mirth was cut short when he probed her mind out of mere curiosity and found something startling. The woman had Force potential and not too little either. Interesting. 

"Mistress Undan," he replied smoothly, emphasizing the title with all its different meanings, "it is a pleasure to meet you at last." Her smile was dazzling and it became clear to him that she too was a master at the game. And yet her lover seemed to have denied her a few crucial lessons in other aspects, namely the Dark Side. Did Kell think her that dangerous then? It seemed astounding, considering that the ancient one seemed to fear nothing at all. 

"The pleasure is all mine," the woman answered and lifted a hand to brush along his cheek and draw the cowl of his cloak aside quite nonchalantly. Sidious intercepted her quickly, taking her wrist as gently as he could and stopping her unfortunate advance. "So shy?" she asked, her perfect eyebrows rising slowly. Oh, she definitely knew how to play her charms. Sidious understood now why Kell had taken her. She seemed to be quite a handful and a challenge in her own right, very intriguing and craving power with a desperate hunger. The perfect apprentice. But far too ambitious for Sidious' taste. 

"I may have a proposition for you," he explained and waited for her reaction patiently. 

"Concerning who? Kell or Sarin?" 

"Ah, a clever one. Which one shall it be?" 

Solay Undan laughed: "So mysterious. Charming. But tell me, what did you offer young Sarin? To teach him?" 

"I offered the same Lord Kell proposed." 

Her face darkened: "And now you come to me ... I wonder why?" 

"Well, I know Lord Kell better than you do, my dear, and he has never before let an opportunity slip away like that." She made a dismissive gesture. 

"He knew that killing Algin would put Sarin in a desperate position. That was the plan all along." She giggled foolishly. "Oh, have I said something wrong? You did not know, of course, that Algin's death was part of the plan, or did you?" A mad light was dancing in her pale eyes, but there was something else too. Anticipation? 

"No," Sidious hissed, suddenly suspicious, but then a cold smile formed on his lips. "But maybe you want to tell me about this—plan?" 

"With the greatest pleasure, my Lord."   


* * *


	4. Fires of Hatred

  
  
  


**Fires of Hatred**  
  
  


_Metzkas_, the Iridonian wild long-toothed feline, is a supreme hunter: it approaches unseen and unheard, moves in shadow, stalks its prey with unending patience, and strikes out fast and unexpectedly, putting its deadly claws and fangs to good use. Then it disappears with the prey, before other large hunters arrive to claim their share. 

Khameir had sometimes been compared to a metzkas. Not that he liked it—he resented being likened to a mindless animal—but as a metaphore it was supposed to be a praise to him. He liked to think of his work as a superior example of a warrior's trade: the opportunity would present itself, and the perfect warrior would be there to take it. Swift, clean and effective. Yet the simile was especially fitting now, as he was hiding in the wildlands where he had fled to consider his options. Paradoxically, he mused, nobody would even think of comparing a fugitive outlaw to that sleek feline. 

He had been on the move the whole night. It hadn't exactly been a close chase, but he couldn't permit himself a rest before daybreak. His clothes were soaked with sweat and dew and his boots chafed. But at last he sensed he was truly alone. 

With a sigh of relief he sank on the grass, pulled off his boots and fished out the ration bar he had somewhere in his deep pockets. Finishing it quickly, he lay back on the mound of leaves, contemplated the wide blue sky above him and listened to the grass rustle. After a while a bird in a tree above him resumed chirping, obviously convinced that the Zabrak below did not constitute immediate danger. _So there, wild metzkas,_ he said to himself before allowing himself to drift off,_ Nature has accepted you._

His sleep was short and fitful, every crack of a twig or gust of wind brought him to full awareness, his fist clenching around his sword. Finally he gave up with dismay, for the first time realizing some of the practicalities of the life in wilderness. This was ridiculous. This wasn't what he was meant to do in his life! He had never been a hermit, quite to the contrary—he had a desperate hunger to have others around him, to measure and test himself against. And now? Would he have to remain so, sleeping under the sky and hunting for food? _A deceitful beast_, he had said to Lord Kell. How appropriate. And now he was just that, a beast he had so proudly claimed not to be. 

Khameir tore a twig from above his head and plucked at the leaves fiercely, tearing them to tiny pieces, while he thought about the death of Algin. Yes, this job had been different for him personally. It had been a complete disaster, and he had no idea how he had not understood this right from the beginning. No doubt Algin's murder had been more or less sorted out by now, and rumours travelled fast. Especially rumours of a Loner being employed as the Lord's bodyguard immediately before his death. He knew now that there was no way back for him, not even under an assumed identity. Not unless he could do something about this Kell—for which, he had to admit, there was little chance. Alone he was no match for the man. The warrior frowned, angry now at his naivity. 

Of course, he saw now what he had let himself be lured into. A deft manipulation with his sense of duty and honour, and suddenly he found himself without any kind of future, even the hard and unrewarding career of a masterless hired warrior was now closed to him. Cut away by Roj Kell and Solay Undan. How he hated them now, he thought, as he slapped the ground with the flat of his hand. Those sorcerers! A taste of bile in his mouth, he quickly suppressed the flare of anger and hatred. And fear. What had happened to him? What had he become? Had he been bewitched somehow? Or merely blinded by his own desire and vanity? 

Speculations would lead nowhere, though. He needed to move on now, before he grew the claws and tail of a _metzkas_. He needed someone to help him, someone powerful enough to oppose Roj Kell and the whole Undan clan. And more personally, he needed someone to guide him out of this abyss. At the moment he knew only one such person. And even though he had foolishly rejected the man once, he now realised that was his only chance. 

Standing up, Khameir shouldered his blaster, cursed his boots and travelled on, his destination a certain small farmhouse. With all his dedication and humility he would lay his hopes at Lord Sidious' feet and let him decide his fate. And then he would accept it. Still, his youthful optimism allowed a spark of hope to kindle. Maybe, just maybe, there might still be a chance for him. 

*** 

The gates were open, so Khameir stepped in. He found himself in a quite traditional Zabrak farmyard. A well kept lawn, surrounded by various buildings with their backs outward, thus forming something like a wall around a castle. It was very quiet, no animals around, no servants, not even a single garden ornament. He called out a couple of times, but nobody answered. Obviously the master of the house was out. He would wait then. 

With unabashed curiosity Khameir looked around himself. So that's where Sidious lived. The house looked old and not too well-off, although respectably solid; certainly nothing he would have expected from someone like Lord Sidious seemed to be. In fact, it was quite average and nondescript. Turning to look at the rest of the courtyard, sub-conciously assessing the means of entry, of exit, looking for threats as a warrior always did, Khameir caught himself wondering, what sort of man Sidious actually was? A secret assassin? A Coruscant snob? A mystical sage? A politician or trade tycoon travelling incognito? A scholar whose connection with reality had grown somewhat shaky during his delvings into ancient, dust-covered manuscripts? He certainly resembled all of them, yet none. In fact, for Khameir the man was as unreadable as this house. Neither of them had given him cues to Lord Sidious' character. However, Khameir noted, privacy considerations certainly ranked high in the mysterious man's preferences—higher than any comforts the city center could offer. 

So, the man seemed to prefer a secluded life. Did he have something to hide? He left his cloak in the peg beside the door, to announce his presence, and stepped into the house—this was as impersonal as the yard. No holos, no mementos, not even a chair pulled away from the table or a book left to lie somewhere. As bare and functional as a hotel. It was oddly as if... Lord Sidious wanted to give the impression he didn't exist at all. Khameir shrugged. Why was he suddenly getting those weird thoughts? He helped himself to a glass of fresh water and then knelt down to wait. 

Khameir Sarin was still in the same position when Darth Sidious returned from his early morning business. He came in, eyeing the young man in silence for some moments, permitting himself a brief smile of secret triumph. Indeed, things were proceeding according to his plan. Very much so. The young Zabrak had come to him, humbly begging! Immediately he schooled his features back to the usual inscrutable polite mask. 

"So," he finally said by way of greeting. Khameir Sarin rose and bowed respectfully. "What is it you want? Refuge? I'm afraid I'm not a social worker." 

Khameir lowered his eyes. This was true. "I understand, Lord Sidious. Just tell me: does your offer still stand? If not, I will leave and not speak of it again." Sidious stepped before him, looking at him thoughtfully. 

"Who do you think I am?" Had Sidious guessed, or knew in some arcane manner what Khameir had been thinking about while waiting for him? "I am not sure," the Zabrak replied truthfully. "You are many things." 

Sidious chuckled. "Indeed. You are powerful, my boy. But," his voice rose to an angry pitch, "a fool you are too! Fool to allow Kell and his whore to play with you! Fool to take their bait! To assassinate Algin at such an inopportune moment! What in Sith hells were you thinking?" 

Khameir's black stripes turned a shade grayer, his equivalent of blushing with suppressed rage, but he checked himself. "I have learned, my Lord." 

"Have you, now? I doubt it." Sidious sat down. "Listen. If I would teach you what I know, you would become more powerful than the Jedi." 

Khameir stared. "More powerful than the—" he breathed. "Is that possible?" 

"But," the Sith continued, secretly pleased at the younger man's awe, "everything has its price. Are you ready to pay yours? That is the question." 

Decisively Khameir went down on one knee. "Whatever it is in my power to give will be yours." Ashamed, he lowered his eyes again. "You were right about me, Lord Sidious. I need guidance. I want to learn to control my own fate and that of others. If you can teach me that, please do." 

"If!" Sidious spat. "Are you doubting me? Look at me, boy!" And he grabbed the Zabrak's chin, to hold his gaze. In an instant Khameir was engulfed in the roaring fire and soul-piercing ice; he wanted to back away but found he could not. Rage and destruction in all their naked brilliance and glory, barely kept in check, lurked in the man's soul, unimaginable ambitions, lust that could never be satisfied, and immense, immense power. All this was revealed to Khameir, and yet it was only a fraction of what was truly there. After only a second, the young man managed to tear himself away with a gasp, falling down and pressing his forehead to the floor. Indeed, he could not imagine any Jedi being so powerful; the man was truly something beyond his imagination. Something that he did not have a name for. "I am sorry I doubted you," he said feverishly, still shivering. 

"So you should be." Releasing the Zabrak from his mental grasp, Sidious sketched a cold smile. "Look at you now, groveling in the dirt before me, the basest of the base. Do you think you can go any lower? Or is this your worst?" Khameir stayed motionless, swallowing his reply, determined not to rise to the bait. For some moments Sidious let him fry in his own humiliation. Fear, shame, self-abasement—these were the most efficient tools for the Sith to burn out the young man's self-importance, or what was still left of it. "Good," he said finally. "You may rise." And Khameir did, wondering how quickly and thoroughly he had already pledged himself to a new master. However, unlike before, he felt this was not one-sided: Sidious was reaching back to him somehow, and although he did not understand this connection, he found it reassuring. 

The older man sensed his question. "This is a bond between us," he explained. "You see, you were meant to be my apprentice. And you will be." He smiled at the young warrior who was still too dazed to dare feel any relief. 

"Thank you, Lord Sidious." Reverently he knelt and kissed the older man's hand. 

"Come, sit with me." Sidious indicated a place near him. "To prove that I am true to my word, I'm giving you a new weapon. When I mentioned Kell and Solay, I felt your anger." 

"Yes! I—" 

Sidious raised a hand to stop him. "I know, I know. Now, think about it. Remember it. Relive each moment." His voice was almost hypnotic, a hiss in the shady room. "Feel it bite you, burn you. Your anger rises in response; let it. Feel it. Concentrate on it. Feel your power, Khameir Sarin. For it is the true power. Can you feel it?" 

Caught in the magic, Khameir had risen to his feet and was now towering over the older man, his golden eyes blazing. Sidious could almost breathe in the anger that was reeking from his every pore. "Can you feel your power, your strength? Nothing can stop you now! You can have your revenge! You _will_ have your revenge! Use it! Lash out! Strike!" And Khameir did, with a battle cry. Abruptly Sidious raised a hand to buffer the strike, and sent Khameir panting on the floor, his strength spent for the moment. When he finally looked up to apologize for his lack of control, to his amazement he found open approval in Sidious' face. "Indeed you are powerful, my boy! Now you have seen your potential. You have been a fool to suppress it! Nature has given you such an invincible weapon, yet you try to hide it, instead of using it. But," he gestured when seeing pride rise in the young warrior's face, "you still have much to learn. This was guided by me. You need to learn to summon and control it on your own; and that will not be easy." 

Khameir bowed. That surprised Sidious. He had expected some reply from the Zabrak, some cocky assurance of his success. Instead, the younger man's determined silence pleased him even more. Fearless; yet not throwing around baseless promises. Quiet, quick and efficient. He barked a small laugh: this might turn out even better than he had thought. Secretly he was already planning what he should name his fiery young apprentice. 

*** 

Keeping his features in check Roj Kell regarded the Neimoidian seated across from him icily. They had chosen the tea-house for their meeting and he could see Hath Monchar shiver involuntarily, as if the cool white and blue walls were somehow magnifying the frosty atmosphere that had settled between them. Finally though he very deliberately leaned his head to one side, usually a sign for vulnerability, but in this case his move made him look more like a predator seeking a better position to strike at his prey's throat. Monchar flinched slightly, but caught himself again. Still, Kell could hear his heart-beat speed up spectacularly. 

"How very considerate of you to inform the government beforehand," he said finally and lifted his tea cup unconcernedly to take a sip. 

"You knew?" 

"Oh, the Secretary of Finances was so good as to give me notice while I was on my way here. No surprises. I hate surprises. Don't you?" The smile he gave Monchar was a mere baring of teeth. Let him wonder just what surprises Lord Kell might have in store for the Trade Federation. He could see the sudden dread in the other's huge eyes and decided to build on that. "But of course, Lord Sidious is well aware of that. I wonder what he was trying to accomplish with this move." 

"I—" 

"Oh, you want to tell me that you are not affiliated to my dear old friend? Please, Hath Monchar, you have blundered badly enough as it is. I know that he is behind this. So, now that the deal is off, are you going to stay for a while or will you proceed directly to Gyndine?" 

His conversational tone seemed to surprise the Neimoidian, for he needed some time before he managed a coherent reply. "Gyndine?" he asked, slightly breathless. 

"Of course," Kell said smoothly and took another sip. "As far as I know you are involved with the CF Corporation there, am I right?" CFC was a direct competitor to the Kuat Drive Yards on Fondor. "You hold thirty percent of the corporation, but Cred Fessel still holds the majority. He decides who is in and who is out. Another good friend of mine, by the way." 

"What do you mean, Lord Kell?" 

"Oh, nothing. But I have very wide-spread connections apart from the very obvious ones. They may not be as extensive as to bring the Trade Federation down, but I can still hurt you and, what is more and much sweeter, I can make the pain last." 

Monchar swallowed hard. He knew very well that he would be the first to bleed for this if Kell's threats had merit. Which they hadn't. But that was not the point. The point was to make the Neimoidian believe they were valid and true. "Lord Sidious will not let us fall," he declared hopefully. 

"Really. And who will protect you once Sidious is gone?" Before the other could answer Kell rose abruptly. 

He would waste no more time on this pathetic creature. The deal was off and that was all that mattered. The fact that Sidious had made his move so obvious spoke for itself: he had lost. Which he had known he would from the very beginning. A grim smile appeared on his lips. Victory was not important in this game, as he hoped Sidious would understand. It was a lesson, nothing less. 

Nodding sharply at the Neimoidian Kell threw a few credits on the table and left. Oh, he was good, very, very good. Sarin was out of the game and would most likely become Sidious' apprentice, the trade was busted and the government would not be much behind the Lords to act. Then it came down to the game of survival yet again. Strangely enough he felt like laughing. This challenge was exhiliarating. But, knowing Sidious, he would not let his old teacher get away that easily. 

Solay. His mood darkened once more. Well, she was unimportant and of no use to him anymore. All he could expect from her was retribution for her dismissal. She would make him pay if she could. And the way to do that was through Sidious. So, three out of four possibilities had been rendered useless. Leaving only one. A confrontation seemed inevitable, but Kell would not be so stupid as to let Sidious dictate the rules there too. Oh, no. Would the younger man expect him to show up at the country house at all? Probably. Then time would be the ruling factor. Checking his chrono Kell cursed quietly. Sidious had had ample opportunity to convince Solay to hold the meeting earlier. But if not ... Well, he needed to check out the sitiuation in any case. No sense in delaying the inevitable. 

Striding toward his speeder the ancient Sith stopped short upon seeing three thugs leaning against the shiny vehicle nonchalantly. His senses picked up another four spreading out in a semi-circle behind him. Just what he needed. Smiling grimly he nodded at the one standing next to the driver's cabin. Sidious was thorough, one had to hand it to him. Impressive. Before Kell took his seat in the passenger compartment, with the foursome crowing in after him, he threw a last look up at the tea-house to see Hath Monchar watch them out of one of the upper windows. For a second Kell considered killing the Neimoidian. But that would not be of any use either. A pity. Then the speeder was already moving. He raised his eyebrows coolly at the thugs who were eyeing him up and down with a sneer. 

"I wonder what you were told about your quarry?" 

"Old man, more than he seems. Dangerous too. Cix, check him for weapons." 

A Rodian ran a scanner roughly over the Sith Lord's lean frame. "No weapons, boss." 

"So, careless too." The human leader of the group grinned at him. "I don't think you'll give us much trouble." 

Kell shrugged: "That depends entirely on your definition of 'trouble'. Does it include unbearable headaches, plus nightmares and bed-wetting? Amputated limbs and third degree burns of private parts? No? If the answer is 'yes', I suggest we find somewhere nice and quiet to ... play." 

"I—" 

"Too late," Roj Kell hissed, pale eyes narrowing slightly. "There is a valley not far from the city and incidentally in a direction I need to go anyway. The Shamin Valley. Ever heard of it?" The foursome shook their heads in unison. "Splendid! Besides, if you are still opting for as little trouble as possible here's a tip: don't fight it." 

*** 

Sprawled in a beautiful and fragrant orchard the Undan country-estate was as grand as its counterpart in the city center and not surprisingly the house's decor was tasteful and stately. Stepping into the great reception hall Darth Sidious smiled slowly at the men and women assembled there already. The lords and ladies of Iridonia, brought together for the last part of a magnificent scheme. Khameir was following him noiselessly, and, like his master, he too wore a hooded cloak that hid most of his features. And yet the two seemingly unspectacular newcomers gained the immediate and undivided attention of those joined here at the edge of the Shamin Valley. Frowns and scowls greeted them and undoubtedly some of them found themselves all too reminded of Roj Kell's appearance. Black cloak, calm bearing and always where you did not want him to be. Servants bustled between the company and distributed drinks and food on intricately carved and laquered wooden trays. One of them approached the pair cautiously and bowed toward Darth Sidious gracefully. 

"Some refreshment, my lord?" 

"No, thank you." 

Behind him Khameir had not stirred at all, waiting for his master's orders patiently. Very good. 

The arrival of Solay Undan broke the tense atmosphere easily. Dressed in a blood-red robe, her black hair done up in an elaborate style, she appeared quite dramatically at the top of the great staircase leading to the upper floors. She lay her left hand on the railing deliberately and nodded at the assembly, as if she were a queen and they her court. 

The Sith Lord's smile deepened. Taking the stairs one by one the hostess descended the stair case gradually, but her pale gray eyes were fixed solely on the two men still standing at the entrance. When she had reached the floor at last Sidious immediately went over to her, but a flick of his hand told his apprentice to stay behind for now. A mocking expression was painted across Solay's startling features as he closed in on her, face hidden inside the deep cowl of his cloak. She picked up a grape from the buffet daintily and let it vanish between perfectly molded lips the color of her dress. 

"An honor, my lord," she whispered huskily. 

"No more than being included in this select company." 

She laughed at the sarcasm in his tone and shook her head playfully. "Indeed. So full of vanity and ambition. Too much like us, maybe?" 

"That I doubt." 

The sudden frown made her appear even more exquisite and the darkness rising in her eyes was like the foreboding of a storm to come. She clapped her hands twice to gain everyone's attention, then turned toward the assembly with a bright smile. 

"Please, be welcome in my humble house. I have called you all together because you are the finest of Iridonia," cocking her head to one side playfully she smiled at them, and some took a step back at the manic glee in her eyes. "The finest and the most powerful. Things have happened recently that concern all of us. Therefore we should speak freely on the events of the past weeks. Let us speak of the death of our dear friend Lord Algin." 

Folding her hands in front of her she put on a somber mask of grief. "When I heard the news I was heart-broken, for one of my father's best friends, a kind and caring man, had fallen prey to a most devious creature." She lowered her eyelids demurely, and on cue her cheeks reddened discreetly with shame and embarrassment. "A creature who enchanted all of us, maybe. But—" her head came up again, "my eyes have been opened to the truth by a man I have to speak my thanks to." 

Her right arm unfolded gracefully to indicate Darth Sidious standing at her side like a shadow, menacing and mysterious. He hated having everyone stare at him. This was far too dangerous. If someone recognized him... Solay Undan was a foolish woman playing foolish games. But she had played her role perfectly and now someone only had to take up the thread where she had left off. As expected one of the assembled merchants and nobles spoke up after a moment of hesitation. He shot Khameir a nervous glance before he addressed Solay. 

"Mistress Undan, I am not certain who you are referring to: the alleged murderer of Lord Algin is here in this room, and he came with the man you seem to praise so highly. Or is there something else behind all this?" 

She smiled triumphantly, her gray eyes seeking reassurance in Sidious, who inclined his head ever so slighty. "The young man you accuse of so vile a deed is an honorable warrior, Lord Jordas, and he was as much a victim as Lord Algin or myself. You know who has been the driving motor behind the economic changes taking place on our fair planet, who has been striving for domination relentlessly over the past months. Lord Sidious," here she nodded in his direction, "has uncovered the truth and offered a chance to this young man to redeem himself. By bringing Roj Kell to justice." 

A collective gasp ran trough the crowd and immediately murmuring voices were buzzing throughout the room as the assembled company discussed this new turn of events among themselves. Sidious' lips twitched in a cold smile when Solay Undan glided over to him, leaning against the railing of the staircase behind her seductively. "Have I done well, my lord?" she asked, her voice barely audible. He turned his head to face her, secure in the knowledge that she could not see his face. But apparently she could sense his mood, for her face darkened abruptly. "My lord? 

"You did well," Sidious answered at last and reached out to trace her right cheekbone almost tenderly. "But I fear that you will have to go a step further." 

"What?" 

"You are Kell's accomplice. Don't deny your hand in this." 

"You must be kidding." Her eyes widened in surprise. 

"Not at all." 

It was astounding how fast Khameir was by his side to intercept Solay as she lunged at Sidious with a furious screech that pierced the air at a very high and uncomfortable volume. The young warrior caught her arms expertly and when their eyes met the look of betrayal on her face almost made Sidious laugh. For a long moment they were frozen like that, but then Solay tried to break from Khameir's grasp, twisting madly from side to side, screaming at the top of her lungs. "You bastard! You are no better than—" Moving quickly Khameir pinned her arms at her sides, his body pressing against hers and she fell silent, staring up into his golden eyes, her rage fading away rapidly. 

Sidious walked around the couple slowly and Solay's head turned to follow his movements. He let the fingertips of his right hand dig into her pale, soft flesh with some pressure, feeling the jugular vein pulsing under the velvety skin of her beautiful neck and his move froze her instantly. Not daring to move she merely stared at him, apparently oblivious of Khameir still holding on to her. Darth Sidious raised his voice ever so slightly and in the sudden silence permeating the chamber even a whisper would have rung like thunder. 

"Solay Undan, you were the one who told me of Lord Kell's scheme, but now you want to tell us that you were unaware of his game? The truth is so much more complex than that, my dear. The truth is that he acted with your consent because it was your ultimate goal to gain Lord Algin's position." 

"You know Kell," she hissed. "He never would have allowed me to control him." 

"Which was why you came to me for support. Is that not so?" Nodding at Khameir to let go Sidious released her again and watched her turn away, her face a mask of cold rage. But she knew that she had lost. She might rant on the inside, but she was lady enough not to show it. Throwing her head back dramatically her gray eyes seared the assembled company who stared at her in astonishment and then she retreated into the upper part of the house. He let her go without any comment. It was not his to deal with her and he suspected that Roj Kell had his own plans for his deceiving lover. Definitely. Turning toward Khameir he nodded at the young man grimly. 

"Our part here is done," he explained softly and strode toward the exit unhurriedly, leaving the confused elite of Iridonia behind without a second glance. But as he stepped outside something caught his eye. There, glinting in the pale light of the moon, lay a slender cylinder on the edge of one of the fountains decorating the veranda. A lightsaber. He recognized it instantly. Taking the handle into his hands almost reverentially Darth Sidious felt his mind flood with triumph and exhiliaration. He knew that ignited the blade would be yellow, shining like the sun, a sun that had stood watch over the Sith for millennia. But it had reached the peak of its journey a long time ago. 

Instinctively his head came up and blue eyes were searching the gloomy orchard, even though he was certain that Roj Kell was already gone. Most definitely the old man had observed and overheard most of the exchange inside the house. And this was his answer. But Sidious was no fool. He did not believe one second that Kell would just roll over and hope for mercy. No way. He never had and he would not start now. And he knew that Sidious was aware of this fact. So, this was a test, wasn't it? Very well. He could play this game far better than his old mentor. Much better. Roj Kell had spoken with so much contempt of his enemies of times long past, of their weakness and cowardice. He had always managed to twist their hearts and minds toward the Dark Side, a territory he knew intimately and that allowed him to control and manipulate his opponents masterfully. The Jedi had never managed to truly defeat him. Always, always he had emerged victorious, a survivor whose machinations were so intricate that no one else would realize just how he had won. And yet, there was a terrible flaw to his way of thinking, one Darth Sidious vowed to exploit in the confrontation to come. But first things first. Oh, yes. 

*** 

Tired to the bones, still dazed and reeling from his Master's latest Dark Side lesson, sweaty and dusty, Khameir stumbled into Darma's shop. He peeled away his black overcoat and dropped onto a chair by the window. When he didn't move for several moments, staring numbly out into the street, the old Zabrak threw him a quizzical glance and quickly closed the shop. Then after rummaging somewhere under the counter, he produced a "first aid kit"—a bottle. He poured two fingers and Khameir accepted the glass with a grunt, downing it in one go. 

It made him feel better, but when Darma offered to refill his glass, he declined. The older man fussing about him made him feel fuzzy, warm and grateful, but in some ways also uncomfortable. Over the years the old shopkeeper had taken a liking for him, caring for him like a parent and worrying about him, but sometimes he felt as if the other invaded his private space. "Do I look so terrible then?" he asked lightly. 

"Ya look like death, boy!" Despite his admonishing tone Darma sighed with relief. If Khameir Sarin was still able to talk, things weren't hopeless. "Where've ya been? The whole neighbourhood's been searched for ya! I thought ya was dead already!" 

Khameir quirked a tiny smile. "Not yet, Darma. Not yet." 

"But yer leaving." 

Khameir turned his head slowly. "Why do you think so?" 

"That look in yer eyes. I've seen that before. Farewell, it says." He grabbed Khameir's chin, forcing him to look up. "Tell me, boy, yer not on the run, are ya?" 

"No, why?" 

"Can't ya give a straight answer!" Darma exploded. "Cause if y'are, I might have a few pointers for ya… Hate to see a nice young man hurt." 

Khameir gently removed the other man's hand, then rose to face him. "You are right, Darma, I'm leaving. And no, I am not in trouble. In fact, I have a master now, and I'm going to live with him." 

"Ah!" The shopkeeper's eyes went huge and round, then his face cracked into a grin. He searched the young man's form curiously. "I thought so! Such a young, strong and talented boy wouldna remain alone fer long! Good luck, my boy. Good luck." He shook Khameir's hand heartily, then turned to wipe a tear with his sleeve. "Yes, yes, good luck. I'll miss ya, though. Was quite a sight, from the kitchen window, when ya danced with yer sword in the mornings." And once again he wiped his face. 

Khameir thought a moment like this would require things like shoulder-patting, reassurances, toasts or embraces, but suddenly he felt too shy. Always closed, always alone, he wasn't accustomed to emotional displays, so he just stood there, arms hanging clumsily on his sides. Darma, however, was seemingly unaware of the other's unresponsiveness. He shook the young man cordially and pushed him down on a chair. Once again he tried to refill Khameir's glass, and once again Khameir covered it with his palm. Unaffected, Darma helped himself to a generous amount of the noble golden liquid from his bottle, and chatted on. 

"So, who's it? That outworlder who came to see ya the other day? Who's he? Not a warlord, that's for sure, even my old eyes can see that, heh heh! There's been pretty weird tales. They say he's a sorcerer, ya know! Not that I believe what silly women say, mind ya, but… Now, they also say, and you boy ha' been out there, ya can tell me if tis is true or not—they say he has dealings with this Kell man who's been running old Undan's business lately, and that it was Kell who was behind Algin's…" 

Khameir could only wonder how fast gossip travelled. He had never understood the workings of it, nor had he understood the shopkeeper's fascination with it. Occasionally, it did have its advantages: it was like a specialised news agency right here at home. However, more often than not it was simply tiring. Khameir stared at Darma pointedly, trying to consciously project fear and, suddenly realizing what he was saying, the old Zabrak closed his mouth. His smile vanished and he was worried once again. 

"That's true, is it not? Ya better look out, boy, who yer associating with!" 

Khameir heaved a frustrated sigh. "My friend, I can take care of myself. Now, about this—" 

"Don't mess with those outworlders, I'm telling ya! First chance they get, they'll skin ya. No wonder these two foxes found each other. And that Undan girl too! She was here to see ya, I saw." He pierced the younger Zabrak with a curious glance, but did not dare to ask directly. "I'd bet this Kell man has ensnared her with his pretty talk—" 

"She's a bitch!" Khameir slapped his palm against the table. That jerked the old shopkeeper out of his soliloquy. Once he had Darma's attention, Khameir continued in his usual soft, low tones. "Enough of gossip, my friend. I need your help. You see, all this stuff I have, clothes and books and whatnot, I need to get rid of it. Can you find me a buyer? Soon? I wouldn't ask much, just a start-off for my new life." 

"And just what do ya think yer doing, going to yer new master naked like a babe?" 

Khameir rolled his eyes. The last trade negotiations of his old life were going to be long and tiresome. 

*** 

She had not expected him. He could tell by the way her body jerked in surprise at seeing him standing there in the doorway, her gray eyes fluttering with dread. But then a faint smile appeared on her full lips as she looked up at him. For a long time neither of them spoke and Kell continued gazing at her calmly, not thinking anything, just letting the moments run by. There was no need to hurry anymore. Getting rid of the thugs had been easy and a good opportunity to vent his anger and frustration. And the little discussion he had overheard back at the Undan country estate had only served to cement his decision concerning Sidious. He was calm again now. Calm and composed, ready to face things to come. 

Detaching himself from the doorframe he walked over to look out of the window. The soft rustle of cloth barely registered with him and when slender arms slipped around his waist to hug him he did not feel it at all. But Solay was a shining beacon of fear and mad courage, a flame burning desperately at his back, as if she thought that holding on to him could somehow save her. No way. When she kissed the base of his neck he let her do so without protest. But never before had it been so clear to him how little he felt for her. There was nothing to tie him to her presence, despite whatever she might believe. 

"Roj," she began, her voice low and tired. "No regrets, all right?" He simply nodded. 

A sigh wrought itself from her lips and yes, there it was, that sense of dismissal, a sure sign that Solay had forgotten already just why she had been afraid. Astounding. Kell had heard that some animals acted like this: if the danger was not immediate they would deem themselves safe. Come to think of it, most humans were like that. But if Solay could be compared to any animal she was a sly Perash, that small predator that populated most of Iridonia's Western hillside, a creature ready to attack and retreat at a moment's notice. She did no trust him, but was not afraid either. 

"A shame," she said suddenly, her warm breath caressing his skin while her quiet laughter purled over his shoulders in hot waves, the happy sound muted against the back of his shirt. 

"What is?" he asked, curious. 

"The poor boy, left with that ghastly old man. Do you think Sidious will make him more than just an apprentice?" 

"Envious?" 

She shook her head, rubbing her mouth against his back absent-mindedly: "He is so pretty, in an exotic kind of way. I love his eyes, his patterned skin. Did you know that the tattoos cover all of his body?" Solay giggled childishly. "It looks incredible." 

"Hm-hm," he ventured, not really listening. His thoughts were on something else. It was clear that Sidious had won this round as he had known from the very beginning. Still, although anticipated this outcome had a lot of implications that Kell had yet to come to terms with. But of course, a proven point was not a victory yet. 

"Roj?" 

He turned around to look down at her pale face illuminated by the light falling through the window. She was beautiful, no doubt. But, as she had stated herself: no regrets. With a smile he reached out to cup her chin into his right hand, studying her gray eyes intently. A cold fire was burning in their depths, as it always did. Leaning forward he let his lips touch hers slowly and she answered his kiss fiercely, tearing at his mouth with an animal hunger. When they were both satisfied and breathless she let him go abruptly, her eyes twinkling in mischievous delight. 

"What are you thinking right now?" he whispered and saw her smile cruelly. 

"That I would just love to break your neck," she answered, her voice rough and on the edge of laughter. 

"Fancy that. I was thinking just the same." 

*** 

Darth Sidious raised his head as Khameir appeared on the doorstep. "Have you done everything I told you to?" 

Khameir bowed slightly, stung by the apparent slight in the other's tone, but he let it lie. "Yes, I have." As per orders, he had given away or sold all his possessions and transferred all the money to the account indicated by Sidious. What remained were only the clothes on him and his weapons. 

Sidious frowned slightly. 

"You will learn to call me 'Master', and you will only answer my questions. Lay your things here." He watched while Khameir obeyed, placing each object carefully before him, in neat order as he had always done. "Is that all?" 

"Yes, my Master." 

"Good." He scrutinized the array thoughtfully, then curled his long fingers in a fist. For a couple of moments Khameir saw nothing happen, and raised questioning eyes to the older man. 

"What—" Then the sudden weird crackling sound caught his attention. He lowered his gaze — and found the blades shifting restlessly, moving towards each other. Dumbstruck, he could do little more than stare at the stunning display. It looked like the metal and fireproof plastics had suddenly acquired a life of their own. Then hardened metal began to twist and curl, and with cracks and bings pieces began to fall off, like ice splintering under a boot-heel! The next instant the swords were halved, and Khameir gasped as the blaster batteries burst with a small explosion. 

"Mas— No! Master! What are you doing?" Eyes widened in shock, Khameir dropped to his knees in a desperate attempt to save his most valuable possessions, but an invisible force slammed into him, so that he fell over on his back. He raised a hand in an imploring gesture, but Sidious never looked his way, not before everything the young warrior had taken such pride in for nearly all of his life was reduced to a pile of meaningless rubble. Defeated, he slumped back and watched, his vision suspiciously blurry. 

Then the Sith turned to the young Zabrak and said coldly: "This is your first day in my service and I will forgive you a lot. That will never happen again. You will never question what I do. And whatever you will have will come from me. Understood? Good. Go to the bathhouse, strip and wash." 

Numbly Khameir did as he was told, throwing a last glance at what remained of his swords. But he wouldn't allow himself to regret. Once he had made this decision, he had to accept the consequences. Somewhere, at the back of his mind, he questioned whether he was not really giving away his whole existence, but by now he had come too far to care. He simply could not afford it any more. 

When he emerged from the bathhouse, he froze in shock. Across the yard the whole building was on fire. Flames roared out of the empty window sockets, the roof panes curled in heat. Sidious stood silhouetted against it all, his black robes flapping in the hot wind, making him look like some sort of demon. Khameir glared at Darth Sidious. This was insane! He was absolutely, raging mad! 

He opened and closed his mouth, unable to find any words. This went so much beyond what he could conceive that— he didn't even know what to think of it. But Lord Sidious simply gave him a brief look, apparently absolutely unperturbed, as if this were a normal occurrence for him. "Come, my Apprentice, follow me," he said and walked calmly into the house, without looking back. 

And Khameir followed. 

He walked as if in dream, his only beacon the dark figure of his Master before him. Deafened by the wild roaring and crackling around him, blinded by the bright flames, he was not sure how long it took, and when they finally emerged from the other side of the house, he was surprised, finding his body covered in burns and dusted with hot ashes. It was as if he had lost the feel of his body — his mind told him that it should hurt, but oddly he wasn't feeling anything. Sidious turned, and in an almost clinical manner Khameir noted that he looked as if he'd never been in fire. There was not a speck on his black cape, although logically the flaps should have had at least some burn marks. 

After he had dressed into the clothes Sidious gave him, the numbness in his limbs began to fade. The burns were much less severe than he would have expected, in fact only minor, but the cloth rubbing against them still bit. Unable to believe what he had just gone through, he was thankful of that reminder, albeit uncomfortable, that he was alive. Sidious gestured for him to kneel, and he did, with a soft hiss. 

Spindly fingers grabbed his chin and lifted his face up. "What is your name?" Sidious asked. 

"Kha—" The fingers pressed viciously into his jaws. Then he understood. "I have no name, my Master." 

Sidious nodded, pleased. "Then I shall call you Maul. In time, if you prove yourself, you will be known as Darth Maul, Dark Lord of the Sith." And he ran a thumb tenderly across the Zabrak warrior's facial tattoos. Khameir — Maul — bowed. 

"Thank you, Master." 

"Now, my Apprentice, it is time to go, before we are seen." 

*** 

It was night-time and the streets were alive with midnight-strollers, hawkers and tourists. He did not bother to give them a second glance. His steps were long and brisk, his eager mind driving him onward relentlessly. But he had to calm himself. He did not want his new apprentice to think him impatient or on edge. No, better to appear composed and superior. The memory of his apprentice swearing allegiance to him made him smile and almost immediately he was his cool self again. Khameir showed promise, an anger and restlessness that would serve his new master well. But now was not the time to ponder the future. It was the past he had come here to bring to an end. Pushing through the throng of people Darth Sidious became aware of a sudden commotion just ahead of him. Curious, he extended his senses, feeling outrage, but also a quiet satisfaction that seemed surprising. When finally he had reached the edge of the crowd he became even more confused. At the foot of the town-house's gate the sparely clad body of a woman lay twisted on the stone tiles. Solay Undan. 

Her head was bent back in an unnatural fashion and his expert eyes identified an act of violence immediately. Someone had killed her before throwing her out of the window. Interesting. Her gray eyes were open, staring up at him in a silent accusation. _Don't look to me_, he told her quietly, smiling, _I am not the one who ended your life_. But he could feel a presence in the house, one that was not full of fear or confusion like the people surrounding him. He could feel it move now, slowly descending the steps that would inevitably lead down here. Fixing his eyes on the gate Sidious waited in silent anticipation. The figure that finally emerged from the darkened entrance wore a long, black cloak, very similar to his own, but the hood of the garment was thrown back, revealing the man's face clearly in the bright lights of the street. Their eyes met over the crowd and Sidious felt an old anger stir once more as Roj Kell gave him an all too ironic smile. Sidious felt his fury deepen. How dare the old man display such confidence and arrogance even though he had lost? It seemed unfitting, preposterous even. Who did he think he was? He had given up Sarin, dismissing his potential just like that, as if it did not matter anymore. 

The younger Sith's face turned into a scowl when Roj Kell strode up to him unconcernedly and nodded: "We should leave. Now." 

"Really. Then follow me." The knowing, slightly amused look Kell gave him was infuriating, but Sidious decided to ignore his old mentor for now. But he noticed the curious glance Kell gave his surroundings, as if he had expected someone to be with Sidious. Of course. Walking past the stunned crowd the two Sith made their way toward the public park they had first met in here on Iridonia. As they rounded a corner Kell chuckled softly and shook his head ever so slightly. "Always remember not to leave traces behind," he whispered into the night. "And if you cannot prevent leaving any behind you should bow out with a bang." 

"What do you mean?" 

Instead of answering the ancient one lifted his head, frowning. "Can you smell smoke too?" 

"What?" 

Just at that moment a deafening boom shook the city as the town-house exploded, and the fire enveloped the sky overhead. Roj Kell laughed out loud when a wave of agony and fear emanating from the crowd washed over them. "Amusing, isn't it, how unafraid they are when in groups, how unaware of the danger and how trusting. Are you like that too, my friend?" 

"I doubt it," Sidious replied, but a merry light was dancing in his blue eyes. The sense of despair and pain was too satisfying to ignore. Yet he needed to keep focused. He knew very well that Kell was trying to confuse him. Already alarm sirens started screaming over the din and the cackling flames. "Two fires should occupy them long enough, don't you think?" 

"Definitely." 

No questions, no curiosity and no praise. Well, as if he had expected anything like that at all. "Why did you give him up?" 

Roj Kell looked at him, a curious glance that sparked a nasty thought in Sidous' mind. "Power and potential is not everything, as you know, Sidious," the old man answered slowly. 

"No? As I recall you were the same when you started training." 

"Was I? I was naive and innocent regarding the Dark Side, yes. But I was no fool. And I daresay that I knew far more of life than young Sarin. More than you do even now." 

That hurt, oh yes it did. "But you could have used him nevertheless. He makes for such a perfect weapon." 

"Maybe I do not want a weapon," Roj Kell breathed as he broke a rod off the bushes by the side of the path and started picking off the leaves absent-mindedly. Sidious stared at the old man in disbelief. 

"Then what were you looking for? A successor?" He could not keep the challenge out of his tone, but it rankled to be dismissed like that. Of course Sidious understood that this move was fully intentional and served to keep him on edge. But he would not have it. "You have lost this one, Lord Kell. And you are not the only one playing a double-game. Do you know that I have vowed to be not only Sarin's master but also yours?" 

The other's sharp laugh broke the relative silence of the deserted park. In the distance the sky was turning a bright orange as the flames lept higher. "Indeed. Well, you have accomplished one part of that vow. But I wonder how you think to manage the other?" Kell added, his pale eyes narrowing when he slapped one end of the long, make-shift staff against the palm of his left hand sharply. 

Darth Sidious shrugged. "Rest assured, I'll think of a way," he hissed, turning to a shadier pathway. He didn't even bother to look back, so sure was he that Kell would follow. 

Kell measured his former apprentice with a calculating glance, clenchinghis fist around his trustworthy staff. Knowing Sidious, he had a pretty good idea of what lay ahead. "I have no doubt you will _try_," he muttered. "Ah, you are still so conventional, my dear Sidious. So fixed on words, words, words." 

"We shall see." Sidious smirked as he strode on, and in the light of lanterns it seemed like a pale death mask frozen on his face. Before the ancient Sith could follow, a barely audible noise alerted him and he twirled to face a new opponent. Khameir Sarin stood before him, a dark shadow in the night gloom. Dressed in black as he always was, he now wore a Sith cloak and his ember eyes glowed inhumanly from the depth of his cowl. He regarded Kell with calm confidence, never averting his gaze, holding a sturdy two-hand sword casually in his right hand as if it was a walking stick. Kell burst out laughing. "Ah. Your prized weapon, my dear Sidious? The infamous lone warrior. Or should I say, your toy now?" 

He hadn't even finished the sentence when the staff in his hands arced up towards the Zabrak. But Khameir's easy stance had been deceptive: with impossible speed he danced away and in the next instant he rose his weapon to attack. He leapt forward, trying to get inside Kell's defences where he would not be able to use the staff. Na?ve, Kell smirked, not falling for this. 

Then the battle was on. Khameir was grateful that his Master had given him a sword, instead of a blaster. A blaster was noisy, messy and too quick. A sword was Khameir's element, a sword had nobility and beautyand taught a lesson. A sword made a disagreement close and personal, just like Khameir needed it to be. _Yeessss._

Kell was a worthy opponent, the warrior in Khameir noted. His staff was a blur of motion as he used alternate ends to attack, feint, parry and attack again. It was all cold calculation and refined skill—and, Khameir noticed with rising anger, the Force. He had learned enough by now to recognise it when he suddenly felt the hilt of his sword become slippery in his hand, or when he felt an urge to act differently. Fortunately, his body had a memory of its own, and Khameir had long since learned to trust this body memory. He had reacted before he even had time to think, hissing with displeasure, and strengthened his attacks through anger, to counter Kell's ice with his own fire. The feeling when he managed to score a hit and his boot connected with the hated Sith was extremely satisfying. _Take **my** spell, you conniving snake! I'll watch you squirm, before you die!_ Seeing the ancient Sith's eyes blink at the fierceness of the attack was even more satisfying. _Good! Be afraid, Kell! Fear is my ally._

But with the staff's length and range Khameir was clearly at a disadvantage, although his speed and expertise almost made up for it. He parried each blow with lightning speed, ducked, spun around and struck with the force that sent a jolt through the older man's muscles. Kell went for a high strike, but Khameir saw it coming and avoided it. But he didn't quite manage to avoid the other end of the staff as it swung at his knees. He fell with an "oof!" With a twist of the Force Kell managed to wrench the sabre from the Zabrak's hand and sent it flying several feet away; but Khameir wasn't idle either. A well placed kick and both men rolled in the dust. The staff was lost somewhere under the bodies. 

Sidious had stepped away when he saw his new apprentice arrive, and stood now with arms crossed on his chest, watching the fight with distaste. There was something obscene in the picture of two men grappling in the dirt. Besides, he was getting restless. They were alone, for now, and hardly anybody would dare to walk here in dark, and who were engaged in the spectacle of the Undan house burning. But still, this was a public place and he did not need any unwelcome witnesses. This could not go on forever! 

Ready to intervene when his apprentice's fledgling powers failed him, Sidious suppressed the urge to stalk around them impatiently. He felt Kell's use of the Force to pin young Maul down; even so it required a great deal of the ancient one's strength, for his Zabrak was powerful. The Sith's chest swelled with almost paternal pride when the young warrior let his wrath flow freely, as he had been taught – and the shriek he uttered when he managed to release himself from Kell's Force bonds was sheer music to Darth Sidious. An apt pupil indeed, and so eager to put into practice what he had learned. 

But as the fighters rolled away from each other and jumped to their feet again, Kell had retrieved his weapon. Fast as Khameir was, he could not dodge all blows—and the surge of power that anger had given him was beginning to wear off. A rib or two made contact with Kell's staff, which briefly shattered his attention, and a blow on his head sent him reeling. Shaking his head to clear the haze from his vision, he suddenly felt something nudge his hand: the errant sword. Without wondering why it was hanging in the air just within his grasp, his fingers closed around the hilt and in the next instant he was up and flying into attack. Momentarily shaken out of balance, Kell lifted the staff to parry. With almost inhuman strength Khameir brought the sword down and shattered the staff in two pieces. Kell screamed in agony as his arm broke, and fell back, Khameir pinning him down, pressing the sword against his throat. 

The Zabrak took a moment to catch his breath and find his voice again. "How... do you want him... Master?" he wheezed painfully. 

Slowly Sidious stepped closer, standing over them. He gave Maul a tiny smile of appreciation. "Just like that, my apprentice," he purred triumphantly. "Just like that." 

"Impressive," Kell muttered under his breath, looking up at Sarin with a calculating glance. But then, the young warrior's combat skills did not come as a surprise. Kell had seen him fight in the Fangs and there was no wasted movement, no insecurity and hesitation whatsoever. Battle was Sarin's element and his only one. Yet it might become a good basis for developing his strategical skills, if he ever managed to shed this apparent need for approval. Shaking his head slowly he propped himself up on his good arm and looked up at Sidious coolly. He knew exactly what had defeated him. But the other's satisfaction was something he very much wanted to destroy. 

"Yes, isn't it? He is quite the match for you." 

"So modest, my friend. That does not suit you at all." 

"What do you mean?" 

Kell nodded at Khameir meaningfully. "He could have defeated me at any time, but he did not have the confidence or courage to do so. It was yours to guide him and you did, in the end. Very good." 

The younger Sith drew himself up straighter at the praise. The man was so dependent on his own pride. And it would be his own downfall once again. Pushing himself off the ground Kell tried to rise, but in an instance Sarin was at his side again and the blade back at his throat. With a more than satisfied smile on his lips Sidious joined his grim-faced apprentice. 

"Then you have just proven my point, Lord Kell." 

What? He stared at him, dumb-founded. Could it be true? No. Frowning deeply Roj Kell shook his head with some determination, but the knowing smile on Sidious' lips was all too humiliating. And still, what Sidious perceived as the truth was only an aspect of reality. Turning his head away he shot Khameir a cold glance and the golden eyes flickered almost imperceptibly. "His being here is just the last of an amazing series of counter-moves on your part regarding my own scheme. The Trade Federation, Solay and him, three factors, with endless possibilities. You selected the most effective and those were what brought you this far. The fight was no more than a lesson for him. Am I right?" 

"Indeed. It is true. But I do not understand how that can be so important. Surely without-" 

"Without him the outcome would have been the same," Kell snapped, his patience finally gone. Admittedly he was more than a bit confused, but he could not allow himself any uncertainty now. And even if he had just contradicted himself, he still knew that his way had served him perfectly over millenia. Perfectly. Why should his methods have no validity anymore only because Sidious thought so? But the truth was even more sobering. 

"Your arrogance is unbelievable, Lord Kell. Your apprentices never survived for long, none of them succeeded you. All you did was play your games against them, using them for your own ends. You do not practice what you preach, so why should I?" 

"You and I are not the same and never will be. Look at yourself. You are a born leader, but you have hesitated for so long to secure your legacy. Now time is running out on you. You have the mind and you have the power, but you do not have the spirit it takes to make things happen now. I have seen it all and I can afford to play games, but you, you are under dire pressure." 

"Contrary to you I am not playing _games_. And contrary to what might have been at your time now the Jedi are aplenty and we cannot defeat them with words." 

Roj Kell shook his head again. "Words are the only weapon you will need if you play well. Haven't you been listening?" 

"You are mistaken. Very much so. You are a remnant of times long past and whether you want to accept it or not a new approach is needed. Darth Bane defied you too and it were his skills that allowed us to survive, not yours, Lord Kell. You merely taught him how to play the game." Sidious' lips twitched in quiet contempt. "Unfortunately you are right on one point. But surely you will sacrifice your knowledge for the future of the Sith, won't you?" 

"No." A quick study. But it did take more than an appeal to reason to convince him of giving up his secrets just like that. "Bane was a fool who took too many risks. And you want to walk his way? One false move and you will be gone forever, just like that." 

"Ah, here I believe I should give you some credit. As for stealth and deception, there is no one who could have taught me better. But that is not everything. Look at your past: you only accomplished so much because time was on your side and you could plan ahead for decades. The magnitude of your schemes could not be fathomed because you set the wheels in motion even before the Jedi became aware of anything being wrong. And still, you lost every time, did you not, because you were trying to make changes the wrong way. Attacking the Jedi, diminishing the Sith, those tactics only served to prove your point to yourself. In the end though they were ineffective." Leaning very close Sidious grinned wolfishly: "Your time is long over and now you are as useless as those Jedi you think yourself so much above. The only thing worth to me is your knowledge. And I would advise you to cooperate with me." 

Kell smiled coldly, but there was not much rancor in his tone. It was all he could do to keep his calm composure. "Words, Sidious, don't have power over me. You should know that." 

"No? Tell me the secret," Sidious hissed, his blue eyes flashing furiously. 

"It requires a sacrifice that you are not willing to make." 

"What sacrifice?" 

"The Dark Side is not easily tamed. And the more you use it the more it demands. It will destroy you in the end. Only if you are willing to surrender that power you will survive." 

"That cannot be right!" 

"You have felt the effects of the Dark Side yourself. It is eating you up from the inside and it will undo you too, if you do not keep a balance between aggression and defense. That is the whole secret, Sidious. The power lies in your mind, and in your mind alone." 

"There has to be another way." 

"There is." 

"Then tell me!" 

Roj Kell smiled sardonically. Sidious had understood what was required, he was sure. But the younger Sith did not want to accept that his wild days were over. He was the master now and it fell to Khameir Sarin to follow his guidance for the time being. Until the Zabrak himself was ready to face his trials and succeed his master. And Kell hoped that Sidious would be prepared to give up his position once that day came. If it came at all. 

"My friend, I remember standing at the same cross-roads you are facing now. You have to decide for yourself, of course, but by defeating me you have chosen already." 

"You are pathetic, Lord Kell. Look at yourself. No true Sith would surrender to his fate the way you do." 

"The true Sith you speak of are dead." 

Sidious' jaw locked tight. "You never cared for us. While they fought the Jedi you were hiding like the coward you are. You even betrayed your own apprentices. As you would betray me." 

The older Sith's eyes hardened: "You have learned your lessons, Lord Sidious, and there is nothing else I will teach you. Either take that gift or be destroyed." 

"Oh, no," Sidious laughed. "I have come too far for that. I will prove to you that my way is the one to victory. Not yours. Now get up." 

Rising slowly Kell shot a sideways glance at Khameir, who was eyeing the two Sith Lords attentively, his eyes burning slits of barely contained fire. What was going through the young apprentice's head? No time to ponder that now though. Stepping very close Sidious smiled up at the taller man, an evil glint in his gaze. 

"You will return to the world of the dead, where you belong, Lord Kell. Maybe the ancient ones are willing to listen to your foolishness. I have put up with you for too long already. And should you even think of opposing me, you will die." 

* * *


	5. Epilogue

**  
  
  
Epilogue**

_ Some time later_  
  
  
  


Two sunburst eyes snapped open as the warrior formerly known as Khameir Sarin emerged from meditation, taking in his surroundings. He was sitting cross-legged on a well-polished floor that reflected the reddish sunlight streaming in from tall windows. The sun had warmed the floor under and around him while he had been meditating, and now its rays caressed his bare back and shoulders, dancing over the tattooed twirls, conjuring up tiny drops of sweat, only to vaporize them in a few moments. From his position the Zabrak could just see the soaring spires, far above the natural cloud level, glinting silhouettes against the skies. 

Coruscant. 

It sounded glorious beyond his dreams. The center of the Galactic Republic, the center of power, the seat of the Senate. And he, Khameir Sarin, the despised Loner, would from now on operate from here. Unseen, unheard, deadly. He sighed with deep contentment. 

No, wrong. Khameir Sarin was gone, there was only Maul. _Maaauuulll_. He stretched the name mentally, savoring every instant of it. Not for a moment had he regretted leaving the old Khameir Sarin behind on this backward, tradition-shackled planet! The new identity offered so much more that even though sometimes his master's insistence that he should separate himself from his former self made him mentally raise an eyebrow, he made an effort to comply. _Yes, that is who you are now and that is who you will be remembered by._

The visible marker of his shift of personality lay just before him on the floor, the object of his meditation. A smooth, carefully wrought cylinder. A lightsabre. Its metal was perfectly polished matte. The switches and dials were skillfully placed and the overall design was finely done, but not overly delicate. The grip showed evidence of use. A living weapon that had undoubtedly seen its first blood, and second, and countless ones after that. Well-balanced, powerful, reliable. But not **_his_**. It was the weapon of the master before Sidious, which the latter had given to Maul for a training weapon. For, as he had said, his ultimate goal was to oppose and defeat the Jedi. So he would need the ultimate weapon. 

Normally paid assassins, bounty hunters and other scum would choose long-range weapons, while the lightsabre was supposed to symbolize the peaceful nature of the Jedi—to fight only in defense. Yet, the only weapon that was suitably effective against the lightsabre was another lightsabre. And so the Sith had adopted and adapted the art of lightsabre and evolved it into a skill far surpassing anything the Jedi could have imagined, interweaving it with superior body technique, ruthlessness and cunning. For the Jedi were not aware what they were facing, whereas the Sith were always prepared. 

Lord Sidious had explained all that to his apprentice when he had given him the weapon shortly after Lord Kell's defeat. He had eagerly clasped it, studying and weighing it in his hand with curiosity. Asking his Master's permission with a glance, he had ignited the energy blade, reveling in its powerful hum and warm vibration against his palm, and then had come his first real lesson. Since then he had trained hard and learned fast, and now he was coming close to returning this weapon to Lord Sidious, to build his own lightsabre, one that would reflect his entire essence and blend with his nature seamlessly. 

His sword skills had been a great advantage, he had sharpened his reflexes and honed the footwork ever since childhood under the best masters his homeworld could provide. Yet there were things he had to unlearn at first, for the energy beam of a lightsabre had no weight to counterbalance his grip—except when deflecting a fast-moving blaster bolt, or pressing against another lightsabre, which during his early training had jerked and tensed his unprepared arm and shoulder muscles. So the left arm had to do much more work. Besides, Khameir was left-handed and in his case the traditional grip had its clear disadvantages. With steadfast training though he had learned to compensate, and was now equally skillful with both hands. 

He rose, donned his tunic and picked up the weapon, studying it closely. If it were easier to switch it from left to right... An image of Roj Kell sprung up in his mind, twirling the quarterstaff, with his snow-white hair and black robes wildly flowing. A glorious mythical image of ancient warrior gods of Iridonia. Maul tried a few stances, twirling the lightsabre in his hand, then ended up staring at it thoughtfully. Could this be done...? 

Some hours later Darth Sidious found his young apprentice in his library. There, buried in the old dusty volumes of real-paper books and parchments, a stack of datapads stuffed under his chair, Maul was sitting deep in thought. Hearing his Master enter, Maul rose quickly and bowed. Sidious stepped closer to see what the younger man had been reading. _Lightsabres, Their Construction and Technology_; _Chronicles of the Sith Wars _by Jedi Master Nasm Mahae-Tra-Windu; _A Comparative Annotated Study of Lightsabre Techniques_. He nodded in approval and picked up a paper where Maul had scribbled some tables and calculations. Then he looked at the Zabrak, who was standing by the table respectfully, utterly still, calm, patient. Waiting for his master's orders. 

"What have you been thinking about, Maul?" 

Khameir frowned. "This morning I remembered Roj Kell, my Master." 

"Roj Kell? Why were you suddenly thinking of him?" 

"Just of our last fight. Every time I parried or deflected a hit of one end of his staff, I had the other end of the staff to reckon with. Master, I was wondering—" 

"Yes?" 

"Have there ever been double-bladed lightsabres?" 

Sidious thought a moment, and a slow smile crept to his face. "Indeed, my young apprentice, this is a promising idea. Come, let us see..." 

*** 

The sun set, coloring this side of the capital planet in blood red and purple, speckled with thousands and millions of dots of light. On the horizon the sunlight still glowed golden, illuminating the needle-like spire of the Jedi Temple. Those guardians of peace and justice were preparing to end yet another day in blessed oblivion, unaware of what was lurking around them, hiding in shadows—at this moment also literally. Yet their deadliest enemy was close by, getting ready for the final strike. Standing by the window, Darth Sidious smiled, feeling his apprentice stand just behind his left shoulder. Yes. Everything was proceeding as planned.   
  


**The End**

* * *


End file.
